Hellhound
by LivingLow
Summary: AU. After Mindoir, a young Shepard, disillusioned with both the Alliance and the Council, decides to take up Miranda's offer to join Cerberus. Once he becomes 18, he joins the Alliance as a mole. MShep/Miri.
1. The First Time They Meet

Disclaimer: Mass Effect and all its characters belong to Bioware.

**Hellhound**

_Mindoir, 2168_

A young John Shepard sat alone at an aged wooden table in the small inn's tavern, staring at the bottom of his empty mug.

"Waiting to pick up Izzy again, John?" The old barkeep, a pitcher of warm cider in his hand, had ambled up to where the fourteen-year-old boy sat.

"Yea, well, you know my parents. Can't let her make the trip home alone in the dark," John said in an exasperated tone.

The barkeep gave a wrinkled smile. "Quite the responsible young man you're becoming, eh John?" The old man sat down on the other side of the table to rest his wearied legs and began to refill Shepard's mug.

John quickly reached his hand over the mug, causing the barkeep to look up quizzically.

"I just came to pick up Izzy. Plus, I don't have anything I could use to pay for it."

"Nonsense, John. I've known your family for ages and I owe them more favors than I can count. Now give it here."

John grinned and, as he was always willing to accept free cider when offered, took back his hand.

As the old man poured, Shepard's eyes began to scan the room. They passed over the tavern's usual customers, its familiar dark wooden paneling, and finally froze on a woman sitting in the back corner.

Her skin was milky white – a telltale sign she couldn't be from around here where everyone worked on the farms under the sun day in day out, especially now that it was harvesting time – and her hair was an intoxicating raven black. The girl, whose age hung somewhere between teenager and young woman, sat alone, totally disinterested in the rest of the tavern, her attention devoted to the omnitool she was tapping commands into.

The old man saw John's eyes widen and freeze and a subtle red begin working into his cheeks. He looked behind him to where the boy was staring and laughed when he spotted the object of John's attentions.

"From what I gathered, she just arrived in town today. No idea what's she doing here though, and quite frankly she hasn't been too keen on sharing. No man that's been up to talk to her has managed to get more than a polite refusal. Except Jacobson's boy." The old man gave a hearty laugh. "His insistence earned him a broken nose, courtesy of the young lady."

Shepard could hardly hear the barkeep speak. His head had decided she was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen, and his pounding heart seemed to agree.

Suddenly the young woman looked up and trained her eyes directly on John, as if she had known he had been shamelessly staring at her for the last five minutes. John looked away and, hands nervous, picked up his newly refilled cup of cider and began chugging away. John, who was still watching the girl through the corner of his eye (though not as discretely as he believed), saw her stand up and begin walking in a beeline straight to where he sat. _Those hips…_

The barkeep started chuckling and stood up. "Well then, John, I'll leave you to it." He picked up the pitcher and returned to his normal station behind the bar.

John had long since finished the cider, but kept the oversized mug held up to his mouth, hoping it would be enough to keep the girl from seeing his bright red face while he tried to calm himself down. Soon enough, however, the girl was standing right in front of him on the other side of the table and, after an awkward moment's pause, he finally lowered the glass.

He looked up.

As beautiful as the girl had been from across the room, she was even more breathtaking up close. John quickly lost himself in her stormy eyes, her luscious lips, the gentle curve of her jaw…

"John Shepard, I presume." Shocked that she knew his name, and still reeling over the fact she had actually approached him, John coughed up some of his cider.

He quickly clasped his hand over his mouth, forced himself to swallow, wiped his face with the back of his hand, and met her gaze.

"Yea," was all he managed to get out.

"My name is Miranda Lawson. There's something I'd like to talk to you about." Her tone was cold and business-like.

Instead of replying (which, considering John's state, was actually completely beyond his current capacity), John just kept staring up at her dumbly.

Miranda stared down at the boy, waiting for a reply. She cocked her eyebrow when she failed to get one. This_ is who they sent me out into the Attican Traverse to talk to?_

The boy finally managed to choke out a response. "Um, sure. What is it?"

"In private, John. If I can call you that."

John kept staring at the girl, her accented pronunciation of his name echoing in his ears. "Y-yea," he stuttered. He kept sitting there until he finally registered his words. "Oh, right. Um, outside?" The girl nodded.

John stood up and walked around the table towards the exit. As he passed her, he deeply inhaled her scent. Like everything else about her, it was intoxicating.

He pushed open the heavy door and nearly tripped over the threshold. When he recovered, he nervously went back to the door and held it open for her as she walked out.

They stepped out into the muggy summer night, and as the heavy door closed again, stood together, listening to the loud chirps of the local fauna.

The girl turned on her heel and faced him. Now that John was standing, he realized that she was actually a few inches taller than him, and felt foolish.

"It's about your biotics."

John immediately went on the defensive. Nobody but his family knew about that. In a community that was as small-minded as it was just plain small, John had been careful to keep others from finding out. He knew what happened to a lot of biotics once they were found out, after all.

He stepped away from her and addressed her firmly. Fear for himself and his family clearly outweighed the nervousness he had had towards her before. "How do you know about that?"

Miranda was surprised at the quick change that overcame the lanky teen. His brow had furrowed, his eyes had become dark, and his jaw had locked in place.

"I work for an organization that's very good at finding people like you."

"What organization?"

"Cerberus."

"Never heard of them."

"Considering where you live, I don't find that fact particularly surprising. Cerberus is a human survivalist group. We work to advance humanity and its position in the galactic community."

"Isn't that what the Alliance does?"

"Hardly. The Alliance is too busy playing by Council rules. Catering to their whims. Cerberus isn't constrained by such things. We're willing to go farther to achieve more."

"'Isn't constrained'? It sounds to me like you guys are just criminals! What do you people even want from me?"

"According to our intel, you have incredible biotic potential. For now, we only want to help you tap into that potential."

"For now?"

"Ultimately, of course, we'd like you to join the organization."

"Cerberus," John said, if only to etch the name into his memory.

"Yes."

"Well you can forget it. I believe in the Alliance and I won't-"

"John!" John looked over and saw Izzy sprinting towards him. "Why are you out h-" she suddenly stopped when she saw Miranda. "Oh. Should I…?"

"No, that's quite alright." The raven-haired beauty turned and began walking away. "Just think about what I said, John. Even if you don't want to join."

Once Miranda was out of earshot, Izzy looked up at her brother. "Who was she?"

Shepard walked over to where he had left his bike. "Nobody. Now c'mon. Let's go home."

* * *

><p>AN: You made it to the bottom? Awesome! I must be doing something right XD


	2. Why He's Worth It

Disclaimer: Mass Effect and all its characters belong to Bioware.

**Hellhound**

Miranda was walking down a seemingly endless dirt road that ran between two adjacent cornfields when she checked her omnitool for what must've been the dozenth time in the last half hour. She was already exasperated at having been sent to the middle of nowhere to try and win the allegiance of a pubescent teen, and the fact that the extranet in Mindoir ran painfully slowly certainly didn't help.

The omnitool beeped and Miranda looked to her left, where a small path branched off the main road. _This must be it_, she thought to herself. She turned and kept walking.

After ten minutes or so, a small house came in to view. Miranda approached it, and once she was within a dozen paces of the porch, she reached behind her with her left hand and gripped the pistol she had tucked into the band of her pants. She slowed as she stepped up to the porch and rapped on the wooden door.

Seconds later, the door opened slightly and Miranda saw half the scarred face of a man in his late forties.

"Alaster Burkhard?" Miranda tightened her grip on the pistol.

"Miranda Lawson?" Miranda nodded. The man opened the door the rest of the way and looked up and down at the young woman standing before him. Content, he nodded and motioned for her to enter. "I prefer just Al."

"You're the asset's handler?" Miranda stepped over the threshold and looked around the cramped but barren house.

Al walked stiffly to the living room and sat down. "If you can call it that. My orders are just to keep an eye on the kid."

Miranda let go of her pistol and walked into the room after him. "And? Is he worth our time?"

"You're here, aren't you? You must've read the reports." Al poured himself a drink and leaned back in his chair.

"I have. But I'd like to hear it again from the source."

Al sighed. "Fine, but you won't hear anything that's not already in there."

Miranda raised her eyebrow expectantly.

"I had my suspicions before," he started. "Little things, you know? Like a baseball rolling into his glove before he actually reached it to pick it up. Then, earlier this year – I forget the exact day, but again it's in my report – he was exposed to eezo a second time."

Miranda was still standing, arms crossed, in the middle of the room. Al continued: "He's only tripped up one time since then that I know of. During the Spring Festival, most of the community gathers in Miller's Field for games and a feast, eh? His mother, that's Hannah Shepard, gave him some kind of pocket watch. A family heirloom, I think. Kid was fawning over it when his sister – Isabelle? – grabbed it from him and started running. So naturally the boy starts chasing her. 'Give it back, Izzy! Give it back!' he goes. By the time he catches up, they're way out on the edge of Miller's field and their parents are watching them, hollering for them to get back away from the forest line. And that's when I see it."

Miranda motioned for him to keep going. "Now the boy has his hand reached out in front of him since the girl's so close, and he screams 'Give it back!' one more time. He grasps out at her but misses her barely, so his arm comes back to his side. I imagine that's what triggered it. The pull. And I mean _pull_. The girl is suddenly being propelled backwards so fast her legs and arms are out in front of her as she goes. She must've gone forty feet like that, and that's before she even landed."

"And you've seen nothing since?"

"Courtesy of the boys parents, I think. They ran over to the girl once she landed, you see, and once they figured she was all right – nothing but scrapes and bruises, luckily – they lectured that boy good and long. My guess is he's strictly forbidden from using biotics at all, especially when other people are around. Well, we all know how it goes once biotics are found out, don't we?"

"You're sure it was forty feet?"

"I didn't believe it at first myself. There's hardly an L2 that could pull off something like that. But I went back after and stood right where he had stood at the tree line and measured the distance over to where the girl had left a sizeable divot from her landing."

Miranda had to admit, assuming the man was telling the truth, that she was impressed. Human biotics that could move a credit chit without an implant were rare enough. Most L1s could barely lift an object the size of a baseball. But a teenage boy who could pull a 70lb girl forty feet without an implant?

_It's damn near impossible._

"So have you met him yet?" Al looked up at the young operative who seemed to have lost herself in thought.

"Yes."

"No luck then, I guess? I thought it was a good move, personally. What better way to persuade a young teenage boy than the words of a beautiful teenage girl? Not to be rude or anything."

"No, and thank you." Miranda paced the room. "We were interrupted. I'll meet him again tomorrow and try again."

"And if he says no?"

"To joining Cerberus? He won't. Even if it's not tomorrow, he'll join us soon enough. Recruiting him is my assignment. And I don't fail."


	3. Letting Her Go

Disclaimer: Mass Effect and all its characters belong to Bioware.

**Hellhound**

Having returned home, John Shepard lay in his bed, his mind swimming with thoughts of Miranda Lawson. He had spent the last hour completely still, his forearm rested over his eyes, carefully reconstructing her image in his head down to the finest detail. Over and over, his mind replayed the sound of her saying his name in that strange yet seductive accent he couldn't place.

"Miranda." He said her name out loud, wondering what it would sound like in his voice.

"Is that her name?" Izzy popped her head out over the side of the top bunk and looked down at her brother. John lifted his arm slightly and opened one eye to peek up at her.

"Yeah."

"She was pretty."

"Yeah, she was."

"And totally out of your league."John pulled his entire arm back and threw his pillow at her, causing Izzy to squeal playfully and retreat away from the edge. When she deemed the coast clear, she looked over at him again. "Besides, I thought you didn't like girls."

"Of course I like girls Izzy. Just not any of the ones from school. What?" John saw Izzy pout.

"Nothing. I just thought…"

"Spit it out already!"

"I thought _I'd_ be the only girl you'd ever like." John laughed and pulled himself out of bed. Standing on the bottom bunk, he reached up to the top bunk and put his chin on the edge of the mattress not far from where Izzy lay.

"Don't worry Izzy. I'll never love any girl the way I love you." John smiled and kissed his baby sister on her forehead. Izzy beamed.

John jumped down deftly and climbed back into bed.

Once he fell asleep, he dreamt of the elusive beauty, Miranda Lawson.

* * *

><p>The next day, John was back out in the fields with his father.<p>

"John! How're you down there?" John reached over to a nearby stalk and grabbed the husk – dry and brown like it was supposed to be. He squeezed it to be sure before peeling it back and taking a bite out of the ear of corn. Sugary sweet.

"All ready!"

"All right, then. Let's head back and get the others." John's father turned and began walking through the rows of corn towards the house.

John sprinted to catch up with him and followed behind him closely.

"Hey, Dad."

"Son?"

"Can I head back into town again tonight? I wanted to hang out with some friends." Shepard cringed knowing he was lying to his father.

"Oh? You rarely head over there when it isn't to pick up your sister."

"Yea, well it's only to hang out at the tavern. Mr. Hubbell can keep an eye on us."

"Get all your work done, and you can go."

John nodded. "Have you ever heard of Cerberus?"

"Cerberus? Where did that come from?"

"They were mentioned on the news the other night is all."

"Is that so? And what did they do this time?"

"'This time'?"

"They were the ones that robbed that Alliance ship of antimatter a couple years back."

"I didn't know. I only heard of them for the first time last night." _At least that wasn't a _total _lie._

"They're terrorists, son. Pure and simple. They managed to stir up a fuss after the First Contact War, but haven't done much since. Just goes to show that all they're good at is manipulating xenophobic sentiment."

"So you don't think they've ever done any real good?"

"Where's the proof? I've yet to see one positive outcome brought about directly by their actions."

"Well, what if they're doing good and we just don't know about it?"

"Son, if we don't know about it than it's because they chose not to tell us about it. And if that's true, how 'good' could they really be? Now go get your sister."

* * *

><p>Once the sun had set and John, his day's work complete, had taken a shower, he climbed on his bike and made the half-hour trip to the town center. He pedaled quickly, eager to reach the tavern and meet her again.<p>

The old barkeep was the first to look up when John entered, breathless. He chuckled. "She's not here, boy."

John glared at the old man as he made his way over to his regular table and then plopped himself down. Winded from the ride over, he leaned forward and put his head against the table. He covered his head with his arms and waited for his breathing to slow.

The minutes passed painfully slowly and John kept his head down so he wouldn't have to face the disappointment of looking up and her not being there.

After ten minutes or so of near complete stillness, Shepard heard the tavern door open and a familiar set of footsteps walk over to where he was. The figure sat down, eliciting a gentle creak from the chair opposite John, and John's nose was filled with the unmistakable scent of _her_. John looked up and there she was, beautiful as ever, watching him with an amused look on her face.

"Have you thought about my offer?"

John was afraid to say no, less she disappear again (this time, perhaps, permanently).

"I have."

Miranda crossed her legs. "And?"

"And…I don't know. I mean, why do you guys want _me_? I barely have any biotics."

"Quite the opposite. From what I've gathered, you have the potential to become one of the most powerful biotics humanity has ever seen. A biotic even more powerful, maybe, than me."

"You're a biotic?"

Miranda nodded. "You have no idea what it's like, John. You could be so much more than what you are now."

"Thanks, but I'm happy with what I am now."

"Really? Look at your life, John. Look at your parents. Your neighbors. You'll be trapped here your entire life."

John's tone became somewhat angry. "Leave my family out of this. Look, I'm _happy_ here, ok? Here is where everybody I love is – my family, my friends."

"Friends? The friends you're too afraid to use your biotics in front of?"

"Maybe they're afraid, but they're not bad people."

"So this is it? This is everything you want? You don't want anything _more_?"

John hesitated before responding. "No."

"Then maybe Cerberus was wrong about considering recruiting you." Miranda sighed. "Look, John. I can't stay here forever waiting for you to make up your mind. So I'll ask you one last time. Will you come with me?"

John could feel his body screaming yes. Not to a life with Cerberus, but one with Miranda.

"No." This time John said the word more firmly.

"Then I'm afraid I have to go. The last shuttle off Mindoir for this week leaves tonight." She stood to leave.

"Wait!"

Miranda looked back at John with those stormy grey eyes.

"Will I see you again?"

"You will when you're ready, John."

John watched her turn and leave the tavern. She was gone.


	4. The Night Everything Changed

Disclaimer: Mass Effect and all its characters belong to Bioware.

**Hellhound**

_Mindoir, 2170_

"C'mon, Izzy! Hurry up!" John had his hand clasped firmly around her wrist as the two of them sprinted through the cornfield. He had been pulling Izzy behind him as he ran frantically through the rows, lightly tugging at her whenever she started to slow, but now he was practically dragging her.

"I can't!"

John finally stopped and looked back at her, her bare feet dirtied from running through the muddy fields and her formerly bright white sleeping gown thoroughly soiled and soaked through.

"You saw what they did to them! We have to keep moving if we don't want them to catch up and kill us like they killed Mom and Dad!" he shouted through the pouring rain.

It took a moment for him to realize that Izzy had started crying – the sound of the freezing rain pelting the ground had surrounded the two in a dull roar and John could barely make out her face in their near-pitch black surroundings.

John bent down (he had grown another half foot in the last year and now stood multiple heads above his sister) and wrapped his arms around her. "Please, Izzy. Just a little while longer. We'll go to our fort in the forest like Mom told us. It'll be just like when we used to play." John could feel Izzy's body shivering violently in his arms and squeezed tighter. "Please."

After another moment, John felt her nod slowly into his chest where she had buried her face. "C'mon."

The two resumed their frantic escape.

"_Hey, I think I saw something move over there!" _Though John's ears were pounding and his breathing was ragged, he just barely made out the sound of the batarian's voice. The same voice, he recognized, that had taunted his father in the moments before he had been brutally killed.

"John, I heard something!"

"It's nothing, Izzy." Despite his words, John's grip on Izzy's wrist tightened considerably.

Less than a minute later, John saw thin beams of light crisscrossing the stalks just a few dozen yards in front of him. He stopped suddenly and Izzy, not expecting the halt, bumped into him, tripped, and squealed as she fell.

John turned quickly to cover her mouth with his hand but it was too late. The beam of light was now pointed straight at the two of them and he could hear multiple sets of heavy footsteps approaching them from both sides.

"_They're here!"_

Cursing his carelessness, John picked up Izzy, held her to his chest, and started moving in a path perpendicular to the one they had just been traveling.

Izzy clutched onto John's shirt and started crying again. "I-I'm sorry, John. It's all my fault."

"Nothing's your fault, Izzy," John managed to say through a strained voice. It was taking every ounce of his willpower to fight off the fatigue of the wet, of the cold, of his burning legs, and of lugging his sister through the fields.

Izzy looked over John's shoulders and could see the batarians closing in on them. "They're catching up!" Izzy squeezed her eyes shut and buried her face into John's shoulder. "…I'm scared," she whispered to him in a small voice.

"H-heh." John attempted to laugh but was too out of breath. "Izzy Shepard, scared? I don't believe it." John could feel his legs getting heavier and himself slowing down. "We're going to be fine, Izzy. Everything's going to be fine."

John looked up at the cloudy sky as he ran. He tried to inhale deeply but his breathing had become uncontrollably rapid and shallow. His chest felt like it was being crushed and his heart felt about ready to explode. Finally unable to run, he still struggled to drag his legs forward through the mud. He managed to take a few steps like that before finally collapsing to his knees. He fell forward, heaving, his palms dug into the mud.

"You have to…keep running, Izzy."

Izzy shook her head stubbornly. "What about you? I don't want to leave you like we left Mom and Dad!"

"I told you….to…_run!_" John pushed Izzy forward violently. He saw the hurt flash in her eyes before being quickly overcome by a steely determination. She gave one last look at him before she turned to go.

Shepard watched her back as she ran down the row. _As long as Izzy can get away…_His eyes started going dark; he was on the verge of passing out.

It was then that he saw another batarian jump out of nowhere and grab his baby sister.

"John! John! Help me!" The batarian had grabbed Izzy around the waist but was having trouble managing the small girl who was kicking out frantically with her legs and pummeling him with her small fists.

"Iz-" John, still unable to get his breathing under control, couldn't even manage to get out her name.

"Don't worry, kid. We'll take care of her." Another batarian came up behind Shepard and pushed his head down into the mud.

"John! John!" John could hear her screams becoming more distant. He felt a surge of adrenaline course through his body and let out a guttural roar. He rolled on to his back and grabbed the batarian around his neck with both hands. Using what strength he had found, he slammed the batarian to the ground and tried to stand up. He slipped at first, but eventually managed to get to his feet. He started running after Izzy, still just barely able to make out her and her captor further down the row.

"John!"

"Izzy!" John could hear Izzy sobbing.

"I love you John!" All the sudden, John saw an assault rifle come down in front of him as a batarian wrapped his arms around him from behind. John struggled to break free, but couldn't.

"I love you Izzy!" John screamed out into the darkness – he could no longer see Izzy or her white gown. He swung his head backwards into the batarian's face, causing the alien to stagger and loosen his grip. Shepard used the opportunity to break free and then squatted down, readying himself for a fight.

The batarian he had managed to fight off before was coming up behind the one whose chokehold he had just escaped. Behind him, from the direction Izzy had been carried off in, another batarian came out of the corn stalks.

John squeezed his hands into fists. He looked down at his hands and remembered his biotics.

… y_ou have the potential to become one of the most powerful biotics humanity has ever seen…_

He looked up at the batarian with the assault rifle. John unballed his fist, drew his hand back, and pushed it forward in the batarian's direction.

Nothing happened.

The batarian laughed and took the butt of his assault rifle and swung it into John's face. John reeled at the pain in his temple and fell to the ground. Another batarian – John couldn't tell which – walked over to where John was crouched on all fours, lifted his leg, and brought it down violently on John's back. John's arms gave way and his face slammed painfully into the ground. The batarian spit on Shepard's face and began kicking him savagely, repeatedly in his stomach. Shepard tried to curl into a ball, but the batarians' attacks were relentless.

Just when he thought he couldn't take any more, he heard a short grunt come from one of the batarians, a terrible crack, and a short burst of assault rifle fire.

"John? John, get up. We have to go." John slowly opened his eyes and saw the battered old face of the town recluse.

"Mr. Ermingild?"

"Al Burkhard, actually."

"Who…?"

"Let's just say I'm a friend of Miranda's."

"Miranda?"

"Don't tell me you forgot." Of course, John hadn't forgotten. Recollections of their brief encounter had consumed him for years, and hardly a month went by where he didn't dream up a new scenario for how he might have stopped her leaving.

"No, that's not what I mean. I thought she left – for good."

"Cerberus doesn't pass up finds like you that easily. Miranda's still in charge of recruiting you. She's also working on her degree in Nos Astra, making her the closest operative to our location. Contacting her is our ticket out of this mess and that means we have to get to my place, _now._"

"I…I can't. I have to get Izzy!"

The man shook his head. "She's dead."

"She can't be!" John screamed out desperately. "I mean, did you even really see—"

"John, _she's gone._ Now—"

"No! I can still save her!" John tried to get up, but felt a searing pain on his side.

Al saw John gasp sharply. "Probably just a couple of broken ribs. Here." He reached out and tried to help John up.

"No! Get away from me! If you're not going to help me, I'll get Izzy back myself!" John lashed out with his hand, unleashing a massive biotic wave that bent over rows and rows of corn stalks.

Al had managed to drop down quickly enough to avoid getting pushed back by the throw field. Once the danger had passed, he leapt back up and tackled John, who had just managed to get to his feet, back to the ground.

He climbed on top of the well-built teen and pinned his arms and legs down. "Sorry, kid. I didn't want to do this, but you're not giving me much choice."

The last thing John saw was Al's fist coming straight at his face. Then everything was dark.


	5. Joining Cerberus

Disclaimer: Mass Effect and all its characters belong to Bioware.

**Hellhound**

When John awoke next, it was to the smell of disinfectant. He sat up, slowly because of his throbbing head, and looked around him. He was sitting on one of a dozen or so cots that lined each side of the makeshift medical tent. To his left was a young girl – the Walkers' youngest, he recognized – breathing through a ventilator and to his right a man who had been badly burned and whose bed had been surrounded with plastic sheeting.

"Here, you should drink this." A woman dressed in Alliance blues and who sported a white armband emblazoned with a red cross, came over to John and offered him a paper cup filled with water. Realizing how thirsty he was, John reached forward – his arms felt like led – and took the cup gratefully.

"You woke up just in time…" the woman grabbed the chart that had been hooked to the end of his bed and looked at it closely. "John Shepard. Somebody just finished the paperwork and is here to pick you up."

"Is it my mom?" John asked, still in a daze. The nurse looked up at John sadly.

"I…look, I think you should ask your cousin when she comes in."

_Cousin?_ That couldn't be right. Both his parents were only children.

The woman patted John gently on the leg before standing up to go.

John swung his legs slowly over the side of the cot and looked down at himself. He was dressed in a white medical gown and had an IV catheter in his right arm. He reached over with his left hand and prepared to yank it out.

"Let me." John immediately recognized the cool voice. He looked up and sure enough, there was Miranda pulling a stool up to the side of his bed.

She pulled on a pair of latex gloves, reached over to the nearby table and grabbed the roll of tape.

"What's going on?" he asked, his voice groggy.

Miranda lay one piece of tape against the table surface and then another on top of it, only with part of it hanging over the edge.

"It was a slaver raid, John. If you want to call it that. Considering how many people were outright slaughtered, it's likely just the batarians trying to punish us for colonizing this far out into the Verge. Give me your arm."

John did, and watched her start peeling back the tape that kept the tubing flat against his arm.

"Once our operative-"

"Al?"

"Yes. Once he realized what was going on, he went to your house but it had already been hit by the batarians. He managed to track you down in the cornfields."

Miranda turned and clamped the tubing to stop the liquid's flow.

"And then he knocked me out."

"Rightly so, considering your emotional state." Miranda picked up a piece of gauze and held it to where the needle led into John's arm.

"And then?"

"Then he took you to his safe house and contacted me." Miranda pressed down on the gauze as she slid out the catheter. "Hold this." John did as he was told.

"Where is he now?"

"On his next assignment."

John watched Miranda take the catheter and throw it away in a nearby hazardous waste bucket. "Lift." John picked up his hand, allowing Miranda to take the piece of tape hanging off the table and use it to secure the gauze in place.

"So how did I get here?"

"We still needed the Alliance to find you to get your name on the survivors list. They 'found' you a couple days ago collapsed along a side road. Seems even the Alliance can manage that much." Miranda took off her gloves, placed them on the table, and looked directly at John.

"The Alliance…"

"They sent over a patrol as soon as the colony went silent. The slavers had landed their ship in the center of a civilian area though, so they couldn't bomb them. They also had this entire area locked down with AA guns. The Alliance sent in a ground team but…"

"But what? There better be a damn good excuse for why they let those batarians kill my parents!" The throbbing in his head finally subsiding, John was beginning to remember piece by piece the events of that night.

"The only way into the colony by foot is through Miller's Field. But the team they sent in was found out before they managed to cross the clearing. They were pinned down for hours."

"And the rest of the colony? My friends? Neighbors?"

"John, the only people the Alliance recovered alive are in this room and most of them probably aren't going to make it through another night."

John looked around the room at the various cots, most of which were entirely empty.

"So Izzy? They didn't find her?"

Miranda softened as she looked at the clearly distraught young man. If there was any part of his pain she could understand, it was the immense pain of having to watch a sister you love be taken away from you.

"I'm sorry."

"I need to go back."

"John…"

"I know…I know she's gone. I just want to go home one last time. Please." John looked up at Miranda with pleading eyes.

"That entire area's been sealed off by the Alliance."

John's hopes had barely begun to fall when he saw Miranda stand up. "Not that that means much, of course. Put these on and then we'll go." Miranda picked up the bag she had brought in with her and handed it to John.

John opened the bag and pulled out sneakers, black pants, and a black T-shirt with a peculiar emblem on its shoulder – an elongated hexagon with a bent line on either side.

John pulled out the shirt and held it, waiting for Miranda to leave. She didn't.

"Are you…?"

"What?"

"I-I was going to change, so…"

Miranda smirked. "Sorry, John. But I can't let you out of my sight."

John's eyes widened.

"Well?" Miranda crossed her arms and tapped her finger expectantly.

"Fine." John pulled off the gown and got dressed quickly, trying his best to ignore the red flush creeping into his face.

"Good. Let's go."

John followed Miranda out of the tent and into the Alliance's main camp. The first thing John saw were the rows of body bags and the Alliance soldiers that kept carrying over even more. John slowed and Miranda, realizing that he was no longer following her, turned back and grabbed his wrist.

"John." John pulled his stare away from the bodies and back to Miranda's stormy eyes. He nodded and kept following her. They started moving down the main road and when they came to the Alliance's haphazardly put up barrier, easily climbed over and kept going.

John stared at his wrist where her hand had been, lamenting its sudden absence. He was surprised, to say the least, when she gripped it again and kept pulling him forward.

Eventually, John spotted the familiar wooden fence that encircled his family's property. They kept moving forward and a hoisted wooden sign reading 'Shepard Farm' came into view. Now John was the one pulling Miranda forward.

They turned the corner and Shepard saw his house. It was no longer that warm, yellow, quaint home he had grown up in, but a black, burnt, and partially collapsed heap.

He walked forward slowly, absorbing the terrible damage.

When the two reached the porch, they climbed the stairs carefully and John pushed open the front door, which was barely hanging on its hinges. They walked into the living room and John paused briefly.

"That's where they were killed," he said, looking down at the floor. "My parents. Iz…Izzy and I saw through that window over there."

Miranda was totally quiet, her eyes carefully trained on Shepard's stoic face.

John kept moving past the kitchen and dining room and started climbing the stairs in the back. The landing creaked as they walked over it. The whole area smelled of ash.

When they reached the upstairs hallway, John headed straight for the second door on his left. He put his hand out towards the knob, took a breath, and opened it.

Miranda could tell immediately that it was the room he had shared with his sister.

The first thing he did was head for his own desk and rifle through the drawers, eventually finding what seemed to be an old pocket watch and stuffing it into his pants. He then led Miranda to a large, singed chest on the other side of the room. He opened it and inside, completely unscathed, were the clothes and few precious belongings of what Miranda guessed was a ten to twelve year old girl.

He knelt down and Miranda, her hand still clasped around his wrist, squatted down beside him.

John reached down into the chest and pulled out one of Izzy's shirts. He felt its softness in his hand and felt a surge of emotion flood over him. Suddenly everything that had happened was real – his parents, Izzy, the whole colony. Everybody was gone. Everybody, dead.

He buried his face into the shirt and felt the hot tears start streaming down his face.

Miranda saw John's broad shoulders seem to shrink in front of her eyes. She watched him inhale the shirts scent and noticed his whole body start quivering ever so faintly. She loosened her grip on his wrist and put her hand over his.

John, who had squeezed his hand into a fist, opened it and felt Miranda's hand slide inside.

"All of this…everything is their fault. The Council and the Alliance, they let this happen. My family and friends…they all died because of the Council's selfishness and the Alliance's incompetence." John turned his head and looked at Miranda. His tears had stopped.

"I wish I had said yes when you asked me back then. I wish I had at least gone with you to train my biotics. Maybe then…maybe then I could have saved her."

"John…"

"Ask me again." Miranda lifted her gaze to meet John's. His eyes were clear – no hesitation, no confusion, no doubt.

"John Shepard: will you come with me?"

"Yes."

"Will you join Cerberus?"

Shepard's voice was firm: "Yes."


	6. Arrival in Nos Astra

Disclaimer: Mass Effect and all its characters belong to Bioware.

**Hellhound**

_Illium,_ _2170_

"This is amazing!" Shepard leaned forward in the sleek skycar's passenger seat and looked out the window at the sprawling city illuminated by millions of lights and forested with hundreds-of-stories high asari towers.

Miranda, deftly weaving the skycar through the traffic, pretended to give an exasperated sigh, but couldn't keep the small smile from pulling up the corner of her mouth. "Honestly, John, sometimes I find it hard to believe you're even sixteen years old." Miranda thought back to their arrival at the spaceport and Shepard's face when he had seen an asari for the first time. She let out a small laugh.

Shepard looked over at Miranda and furrowed his brow. He hated it when she brought up his age.

Beautiful, cultured, and attending one of the galaxy's most prestigious universities, Miranda Lawson was unattainable enough to Shepard without factoring in their four year age difference. Before her, Shepard couldn't help but feel like a backwoods fool.

Shepard looked down at his hand and squeezed it into a fist. _If there was one thing that could close that gap_...

"What is it?" Miranda asked, noticing Shepard's lack of reply. She had been expecting a playful, boyish rebuttal instead of his total silence.

"Huh? Nothing."

Miranda nodded slowly and, assuming Shepard was simply still occupied by thoughts of his recently deceased family, refocused on the highway.

"This is it."

Miranda motioned upwards with her chin at a nearby tower, the tallest in the area by far. Shepard was pushed back into his seat as Miranda brought the skycar down out of the stream of traffic and into a tunnel running through the tower's center.

Shepard watched the bright blue and purple lights flash by as they soared down the tunnel, finally turning off to the side into a small alcove.

The shuttle came smoothly to a stop and Miranda reached to her side, effortlessly lifting up the skycar door.

Shepard watched her carefully so that he, never having ridden in the more modern civilian sector skycars, might be able to open it without having to ask Miranda for help...again (getting _into_ the skycar back at the spaceport had been, for Shepard, frustrating enough).

Much to his relief, Shepard managed to open the door successfully. He stepped out, brought the passenger door back down, and looked over the roof of the car to Miranda. She waved him after her and walked to the back of the alcove before swiping her omnitool over the door's console. It opened directly into a relatively roomy elevator. Miranda stepped in, followed closely by Shepard.

Miranda noticed Shepard staring quizzically at the single option on the elevator's digital panel. She reached forward and tapped it once.

"It's a private elevator, John. It goes directly to the penthouse."

"Whose?" Shepard stumbled backwards against the railing as the elevator shot upwards rapidly.

Miranda, completely unfazed by the process, waited the few seconds it took the elevator to reach its destination and open its doors to reply.

"Ours." Miranda walked out of the elevator into the suite.

The first thing Shepard noticed was how open the penthouse was – the ceiling was at least forty feet high and the majority of it seemed to double as a retractable skylight.

"My bed is up there." Miranda pointed to the open staircase built jutting out from the wall in front of them. Shepard followed the steps with his eyes and saw that at the top of the steps was an area containing a bed, dresser, desk, and terminal and that looked out over the rest of the suite. Below the steps was a small coat closet.

Miranda turned right and walked adjacent to the staircase. When she came to where the staircase started she turned left into the penthouse's main area. Never ceasing her stride, she then pointed around the apartment.

She first motioned to the door in the corner closest to them. "Your bedroom." In a slightly lower voice she added, "Formerly my closet."

"The kitchen and dining rooms." Miranda pointed to the right, northern side of the apartment. The kitchen was in the back and was separated from the dining area beside it by a wall with a horizontal rectangular cut out that allowed items to be passed easily between the two. Neither had a door but instead was completely open to the main area, separated only by the three shallow steps one had to ascend to reach them.

Miranda kept walking forward. "Entertainment." Opposite the dining room was the living area. It consisted of a massive display flat against the southern wall and, in front of it, the depressed area containing a rectangular table with two long black leather couches on either of its sides.

"The view," she said as they finally came to the back of the apartment. The western wall was curved so that a small table and two stools could fit in the center of the elevated end area and lined with the high glass windows that allowed one to look out on the rest of Illium. "The doors in the corners lead out to the balcony."

"Bathroom?"

Miranda spun around and pointed to the door in the wall under her bed. "Speaking of, you should take a shower before we leave to see the doctor." Shepard looked down at himself and realized he still had some of the mud and blood caked on his skin from that night.

"Why? What doctor?"

"We need to get a full body scan to see what we're dealing with and then get you prepped for surgery. Cerberus wants you readied with the new L3 implant by the end of the week. After we get the necessary data, we can have our specialists get working on a custom amp for you."

"Implants? Amps? What are you even talking about?"

Miranda sighed. "Look, I'll explain it during the ride over. Just get in the shower so we're not late."

Shepard shrugged and, seeing as he really did need a shower, headed for the bathroom.

Miranda waited until he had closed the door behind him and turned on the water before typing a set of commands into her omnitool, causing the display to flicker on. The first thing she saw was the bright orange and blue of a star about to explode and the shadow of a man sitting in a chair in front of it.

"Illusive Man." Miranda straightened her back and spoke deliberately.

"Miranda. I trust you have good news." On the screen, the Illusive Man was still facing away from her though she could see the wisps of smoke rising from the cigar he held in his right hand.

"Yes. The target's been recovered, unscathed. Both I and our locally stationed operative managed to do so and leave Mindoir uninjured and uncompromised."

"Good. I knew you wouldn't disappoint me, Miranda." Miranda let her pride swell briefly. "Is he on board with our cause?"

"Completely, sir."

"Hmm," the Illusive Man exhaled slowly. "What changed his mind?"

"I believe he blames the Council for allowing the attack that killed his parents to happen, and the Alliance for not doing more to stop it. He also…"

Miranda saw the Illusive Man turn his head to the side.

"He also has no one left."

"A fact I know you will use fully to your advantage. Let him grow close to you and no one else. Let him rely on you, confide in you, and trust you. Maintain absolute control over him."

Miranda paused as she looked over to the bathroom door. She let her eyes linger before snapping them back to the screen. "I will."

"You know what your mission is now. What normally takes years, I expect you to do in months. Develop his biotics and turn him into an asset we can use. Project Endymion is yours, Miranda." At that, the display went dark.

"Should I just put on the same clothes I was wearing before?" Miranda turned to the source of the muffled voice; Shepard had just stepped out of the bathroom with one towel around his waist while vigorously drying his hair with another.

"The dressers in your room are already full." Shepard nodded and walked across the apartment to his bedroom door, leaving a trail of small puddles behind him.

Miranda sighed. Living together with John Shepard was going to take getting used to.

* * *

><p>AN: Layout might be familiar to anyone who's played Alpha Protocol.


	7. What Are EZNs Again?

Disclaimer: Mass Effect and all its characters belong to Bioware.

**Hellhound**

"So remind me why I have to undergo surgery again." Shepard sat in the passenger seat of the shuttle again, his arms crossed.

"To put in an implant," Miranda said plainly. She guided the shuttle through Illium's night skies, the lights flashing past, alternating illuminating her and Shepard's faces in a dark blue or purple before letting them return to darkness.

"Which I need because?" Shepard was obviously unhappy at the idea of going to the doctor, least of all letting said doctor cut him open. His parents (and consequently Shepard himself) found hospitals and doctors to be generally unnecessary; they were simply ways to take your money to fix with expensive drugs what could've been fixed by the 'healthy, hard-working, honest life of a farmer.' Shepard inwardly smiled, imagining the words he so often heard from his father's mouth.

"Because having one will allow you to use bio-amps which will increase the strength of your biotics at least a hundred fold. Quite frankly, without an amp, human biotics are useless in combat scenarios."

"But I managed to pull Izzy like a hundred feet before, and that was without an amp!"

"First of all, it was less than fifty feet – not a 'hundred.'" Miranda rolled her eyes.

Shepard looked over at her, his lips slightly pursed. "How…Al?"

"Yes. Second of all, you only ever managed to pull something like that off once. We don't even know for sure whether you can do it again."

Shepard leaned his head back against the passenger seat and sighed. "Fine. How is this all going to work anyways? Where do they put the…the implant?"

Miranda took one hand off the steering wheel, cocked her head slightly to the side, and pushed back her hair to reveal her slender neck.

Shepard felt his throat go dry and heart rate spike.

"They'll put the implant here, at the base of your skull." Shepard's right hand started moving towards her neck without his realizing, and once he saw it stretching out in front of him, he hurriedly grabbed it in his left hand and slammed it back down into his lap.

Miranda, whose eyes had been on the traffic in front of her, glanced sideward at the sudden movement, but Shepard's eyes were suddenly looking everywhere but in her direction. She put her hand back on the wheel, letting her hair slide back down.

Shepard cleared his throat. "And the amps?"

"Think of amps as software and the implants as hardware. Amps can easily be plugged in or pulled out, but you'll have to be careful nothing gets caught in the implant when you do."

Shepard was rubbing the back of his neck, imagining having some foreign piece of technology permanently lodged in his flesh.

"And once the implants are in, they're in for good?"

"That's the idea. You can upgrade to newer implants, just…"

"Just what?"

"The surgery required is incredibly tricky and the chances you emerge alive and without some kind of physical or psychological disability is just as incredibly low. Luckily for you, should you ever want to upgrade your implant, you have all of Cerberus' resources at your disposal: the galaxy's best surgeons, first-rate facilities, and technology that's consistently ahead of the Alliance's." Seeing Shepard's evermore distressed face, Miranda added: "Cerberus has never botched a retrofit, John. Never."

They drove a few minutes in silence before Shepard spoke up again. "So how do they work? Amps I mean."

"Do you know how drive cores work?"

"Yea. I can't say how many times they beat it into us at school. You basically take a chunk of eezo, run an electric current through it, and produce a mass effect field."

"Perhaps a bit oversimplified, but that's pretty much the idea. Embedded in your flesh, John, are eezo nodules – mini drive cores, if you will. Your nervous system provides the electric current. But to use your biotics to their fullest, you have to simultaneously activate as many of those nodules as possible and direct them all towards producing a single action. That's where amps come in. They synchronize your nodules to a degree you wouldn't be able to sync them naturally."

Miranda paused to let the information sink in.

"Even if you were powerful enough to use your biotics to pull your sister like that, if you did it repeatedly without training you'd probably kill yourself."

Shepard looked up worriedly. "How do you mean?"

"Essentially, you'd be unleashing dozens of relatively powerful mass effect fields without properly controlling them. You'd rip yourself apart before you did your enemy. We're here."

Shepard pushed away thoughts of pulling himself apart with his own biotics and climbed out of the skycar. They had landed on the roof of a low, flat, indistinct building near the outskirts of Nos Astra. Shepard followed after Miranda who had already crossed the roof to the door, behind which was an elevator to the lower floors.

As the two began their descent, Miranda noticed John fidgeting with his hands.

"Nervous?" Miranda smirked.

"Gonna call me a kid again?" Shepard replied defensively.

"No." Almost immediately, Shepard felt stupid and petty and completely regretted his words. "Look, John, everything's going to be fine. I've been through this entire process before. As long as you're with me, nothing's going to happen." Miranda was surprised at her own display of compassion. She was also confused. Did she mean it? Or was she just playing her asset? The last two days had been a dreamlike respite from her normal life, and she couldn't say she was entirely ungrateful. She had enjoyed Shepard's innocence and boyishness. He had let himself trust her despite barely knowing anything about her, yet he didn't doubt his decision or pester her to know more. With him, she could at least temporarily forget her past.

She had to admit it was refreshing.

Miranda looked back at Shepard and noticed he was grinning at her and had stopped fidgeting. Miranda doubted that such simple (and quite frankly trite) words coming from her would've had the same effect on many others, if any.

The elevator stopped and its doors hissed open. Standing on the other side of the threshold waiting for them was none other than the doctor.

"Ms. Lawson, a pleasure. This must be Subject Endymion." The doctor glanced at Shepard with an intrigued look.

"Endymion?" Shepard looked at Miranda.

"Your code name," she replied in a low voice.

"You said this guy is my doctor, right? I don't want to keep being called 'Subject Endymion' every time I have to come over here."

Miranda paused thoughtfully before replying. "I agree. The doctor here will be observing your growth over the foreseeable future and has already proven himself a dedicated Cerberus supporter. Dr. Zarnow, this is-"

Shepard stepped forward and held out his hand. "John Shepard." Shepard and the doctor shook hands once, firmly.

"Dr. Hugh Zarnow."

"It's a pleasure to meet you."

Dr. Zarnow clapped his hands. "And he's well-mannered! Splendid! Though I doubt you'll last long here on Nos Astra…" Shepard furrowed his brow. "But then again you do have the aid of the ever beautiful, ever _deadly_ Ms. Lawson…"

Miranda cleared her throat and looked at Shepard. "Dr. Zarnow is _the_ foremost human neurologist in the galaxy. He also happens to specialize in Human Biotic Analysis and Development. Now, shall we get started?"

"Certainly! Certainly! If you'd follow me this way please…" Zarnow led them down a bright white corridor, only pausing for the amount of time it took the door at the end to hiss open.

"Sit down! Go ahead! Now, if you'd give me your arm…" Shepard waited to see Miranda, who was standing behind the doctor, nod before he held out his right arm.

Zarnow picked up a needle he had prepped and left on a nearby tray, and Miranda watched Shepard glare at it so intensely, it appeared as if he was trying to _will_ it to stop its procession or, better yet, make it melt in the eccentric doctor's hand. The attempt, however, was futile.

"Not to fret, John!" Zarnow said merrily. "It's simply a dye that will travel through your system and grab on to any eezo nodules."

Shepard looked away from the doctor as he inserted the needle into Shepard's vein, and instead tried to divert his attention by concentrating on Miranda.

Sensing Shepard's distressed state, Miranda started talking. "The doctor will scan you afterwards and create a 3D holographic recreation of the number, size, density, and location of your EZNs."

"Quite right! This young lady would be one to know, of course." Zarnow led Shepard to the reclining medical chair in the center of the room and then stepped back to enable the scanner. "What degrees are you pursuing these days Ms. Lawson?"

"Biomedical Nanoengineering and Human Genetic Manipulation."

A long arm came down from the ceiling and started to circle Shepard.

"Try not to move now, Johnny boy!" Zarnow looked back at Miranda. "That's right! You've made quite a name for yourself these last few years within a very select, very elite group of scholars. And that's not just because your father funds most of their research either!"

Zarnow's jovial tone persisted, though Shepard could see Miranda's face darken visibly at the mention of her father.

"Ah! Done. Let's take a look, shall we?" Zarnow sprung forward and started entering the data into another terminal.

While the doctor's old but surprisingly sprightly fingers worked away, Shepard climbed out of the chair and walked over to where Miranda stood.

"Hey, you ok?" he said softly.

Miranda looked at Shepard and quickly buried what anger she had let slip in a frosty exterior. "I'm fine." She walked past him briskly and headed towards the doctor.

Miranda had been caught off guard by Shepard's sudden approach. More specifically, she had been caught off guard by his naked, genuine concern. While held captive by her father's influence and while carrying out missions for Cerberus, Miranda had become accustomed to manipulation, exploitation, and deception. Those she knew how to deal with easily. But genuine concern? To her it was very much _terra ignota_. And it irked her.

She was similarly irked by its surprising ability to allay her anger.

"Well?" Miranda came up beside Zarnow and deliberately let her tone express her impatience.

Zarnow put in one final command and the room dimmed as a 3D rendering of Shepard's body came up. Displayed in a similar manner to Michelangelo's Vitruvian Man, the holograph kept changing, the various layers of tissue flickering on and away before Zarnow came to the setting he desired.

"Here we go!" Shepard watched himself, reduced to the light blue, illuminated pathways of his nervous system and a spattering of blood red notches he assumed were his eezo nodules, hover off the ground and rotate slowly.

"What a specimen!" Zarnow gasped. Shepard, uneasy at the doctor's exclamation, looked over at Miranda.

Her eyes were trained carefully on the holograph. She squinted before looking over at Zarnow. "Let me see your display settings."

"You'll see that they're all quite standard!" he said excitedly.

"What is it?" Shepard asked.

"The intensity of the red is proportional to the density of your EZNs," Miranda said in a clipped voice. "I've never seen nodes anywhere near this level."

"Neither has anyone else! It's a shame we can't get a sample…at least without causing excruciating pain." The doctor was visibly dejected.

"That's good, right?" Shepard moved closer to Miranda.

"It's not good or bad. Just unusual. Where eezo nodes develop is entirely unpredictable. Most don't actually end up embedded in tissue anywhere near the pathways of the somatic nervous system. And as you already know…"

"No nerves, no electrical current."

"Making such nodes unusable towards biotics. Normally, those are the nodes samples are taken from."

"And me?"

"Every one of your nodes lands on a SNS pathway. This actually compensates for your below average number of nodes. And no, that's not bad either. If anything it's a good thing – overly numerous and oversized nodes are a leading cause of harmful side effects in biotics. Ultimately, the effect of the actually quite ideal location of your EZNs means you have more _accessible _nodes than the average biotic. Substantially more, in fact."

"So I'm alright?"

"You're _perfect_, my boy! Or at least the closest thing to it I've ever seen."

Miranda sighed. "Let's not jump to conclusions. We'll continue running tests to watch for any growth or degradation. His second exposure was still relatively recent so we can't be sure the EZNs are fully matured. Forward the information to the Skunkworks over a secure line." Miranda turned to face Shepard. "We can go now, John."

"Ah, but my samples!" Zarnow shouted out.

"Not the day before his surgery. You'll have everything ready by tomorrow?"

"Not a problem! Not at all! But installing implants is really quite _standard_, Ms. Lawson. Are you sure I can't-"

"Good night, Dr. Zarnow."

The doctor finally gave in and bid Shepard and Miranda good night.

"Good night, doctor," Shepard said in a rushed voice. He turned on his heel and sprinted after Miranda, who was already waiting in the elevator.


	8. A Quiet Meal

Disclaimer: Mass Effect and all its characters belong to Bioware.

**Hellhound**

Returning to the apartment, Shepard rolled his shoulders and Miranda stretched her neck. Between the trip from Mindoir to Ilium, the drive from the spaceport to the apartment, and going to and returning from the Doctor's private facilities, the two of them had spent the better part of their day in transit and were understandably stiff.

Miranda walked up the stairs to her bedroom (though it really wasn't quite a room) and out of Shepard's sight. He watched her figure climb the stairs and, realizing that his eyes had become glued to her backside, forced himself to look away and shamed himself as he went to his bedroom. He stripped off his clothes and pulled on his pajamas – a plain white tee and plaid pajama pants with a black base and orange-gold lines. Shepard noticed that this particular color combination was quickly beginning to dominate his wardrobe.

He sat down at the foot of his bed but, feeling entirely restless, decided to get back up and go out into the main area.

When he opened the door and stepped out of his room, he recognized the sound of water running coming from the bathroom. Shepard went down the three stairs, closed his eyes, and collapsed onto one of the black leather couches. When he opened his eyes, he was staring out the skylight into Ilium's night sky. Yet he could see no stars. Whether due to smog or light pollution, Shepard didn't know. But he did know it was nothing like the clear night skies of Mindoir. Shepard closed his eyes, put his forearm over his eyes, and tried to visualize the sky as, in his mind, it should've been.

Shepard's nostrils were suddenly filled with the intoxicating scent of one Miranda Lawson, and when he opened his green eyes it was to meet her own grey ones.

Miranda, her skin glowing as skin often does after emerging from a shower, was leaned over the back of the couch, looking down at Shepard, and smirking.

"You don't like your room?"

Shepard felt his heart flutter. He hated how every little thing she did could do that to him, while nothing he could do seemed to have any effect on her. He calmed his self to what small degree he could, put his arms behind his head and looked up at the skylight. "There're no windows. It's suffocating."

Miranda, still leaning with her forearms against the back of the couch, looked up at the skylight herself. "You know each of the walls and the ceiling in your room is covered with microfilm monitors. All you have to do is pick a setting from the wall console and they'd light up as whatever you want – beach, jungle, countryside."

Shepard sat up and looked at Miranda. He was so close to her now, it was dizzying. "Just not the same, I guess. Plus I'm starving."

Miranda stood up and walked across the apartment to the kitchen. "You know you can't eat since you have the surgery tomorrow," she shouted back.

Shepard sat back against the couch and splayed his arms across its back. "Which is terrible timing, I might add. I've barely eaten anything these last few days – and Alliance IV fluids don't count."

Miranda emerged from the kitchen carrying a small salad, and headed for the table situated near the vista. She looked back at Shepard and nodded her head, beckoning him to take the other seat. Shepard gladly obliged and walked across the apartment, finally sliding himself onto the high stool.

"I don't know what you're talking about. You completely gorged yourself on the shuttle ride over from Mindoir. I have the bill to prove it." Miranda started eating.

"Well, other than that." Shepard leaned his face against the palm of his hand and looked to his side out the tall glass windows.

Miranda continued to eat in a comfortable silence. She couldn't remember the last time she had eaten a quiet, casual meal with someone she didn't intend to torture, maim, or kill.

When she finished, she put down her fork and glanced thoughtfully at Shepard.

"John?"

"Mmhmm?" Shepard's face turned slightly and his eyes pulled slowly away from the vista, finally resting on Miranda's face.

"Why did you really join Cerberus? Was it just to prevent another Mindoir from happening?"

"I…No, I wouldn't say that." Miranda waited silently for him to continue.

"You know how you were talking before about making me into an 'asset Cerberus could use'?"

"You heard that?" Miranda tensed and began running through scenarios of what had happened that he had heard and what might happen since he did and what she would have to do to preserve her project. She then recalled his surprise at hearing the term Endymion back at Zarnow's – it had seemed genuine enough (though perhaps she was beginning to assume that everything he did was genuine by default), which would imply that he had only caught fragments of the conversation. She relaxed somewhat.

"Yeah. Not much else though, so you don't have to worry. And I'm not angry."

"No?"

"Yeah. I mean, thinking of people as assets doesn't make Cerberus the bad guy. Everybody thinks that way." Shepard turned his head back towards the vista. "If I had joined the Alliance, I would've been their 'asset.' If I got some white-collar, pencil-pushing job somewhere, I would've been _that_ company's 'asset.' So why would I be angry? If I was just going to end up somebody's asset anyways, I'm glad I got to at least choose _whose_. I don't regret my choice; I _want_ to be an asset to Cerberus. I still think you guys can do a lot more for me and for people in general than the Alliance or some company could do. And a helluva lot more than if I just stayed to work on the farm."

Shepard looked back at Miranda and smiled. "Plus I trust you Miranda. And you trust Cerberus. So that's good enough for me."

Miranda felt…guilt?

"What about you?"

"Why'd I join?" Shepard nodded. "I suppose because I knew what I had the potential to do, and Cerberus was the only group that, not being bogged down in politics and bureaucracy, could let me do it. Cerberus never tells me that something is impossible. They give me my resources and tell me to get it done."

"And it, this time, is me? Subject Endymion."

"Right."

"And what happens when you're done? What do I do? Where do you go?" _What happens to _us_?_

"We move on to our next assignments." Miranda saw that Shepard was obviously dissatisfied with the answer. "But that day is a long way away, John. For now, let's just worry about your surgery tomorrow. And maybe getting some decent sleep."

Shepard yawned. "Agreed." He watched Miranda stand and take her dishes to the kitchen. A short while after, she reemerged and started heading for her bed.

"Night, Miranda," he called after her tenderly.

Miranda turned and looked back at Shepard. "Goodnight, John." Miranda continued towards the staircase that led to her bed. From the railing that enclosed the elevated, open bedroom, Miranda peered down and watched John stretch himself along the couch, turn on his side, and fall asleep.

Minutes later, Miranda did the same.


	9. Node Mapping

Disclaimer: Mass Effect and all its characters belong to Bioware.

**Hellhound**

Shepard woke the next morning with the sun.

"Good. You're up." Shepard craned his neck and saw Miranda seated in the dining room, sipping a cup of coffee and reading from a datapad.

"Yeah. How long have you been awake?" Shepard pulled himself off the couch and was heading for the coffee when, feeling Miranda's scowl send chills down his spine, he remembered the no foods/no liquids rule and sighed miserably.

"A while. I don't sleep much." Miranda looked across the table to where Shepard had taken a seat. "Apparently neither do you."

Shepard leaned back and stared up at the ceiling. She was right; he hadn't. He couldn't close his eyes without reappearing back in the cornfield, in that terrible cold rain and impenetrable night. He would realize where he was and then he would see Izzy being hauled off by the slaver, screaming his name, pleading for his help. He would run after her, run and run and run, thinking that unless he found her he would never escape.

He never did find her, but he always woke up. How many times had he broken out of his dream only to fall back into it again?

Sensing that Shepard had no intention of talking about what had kept him up the better part of the night, Miranda continued reading the datapad. "We'll head for Zarnow's once you're dressed."

Shepard, brought back to the present by Miranda's words, nodded and left the table for his room. Once he had changed and returned to the main apartment, Miranda stood and walked briskly past him towards the elevator. Shepard followed and together they stepped inside.

The doors closed and Miranda turned and held out a small red pill. "Put this under your tongue. It should dissolve by the time we get to Zarnow. Try not to talk and _don't swallow it_."

Shepard took the pill and rolled it between his thumb and index finger. "What's it for?"

"Honestly, John, do you think I've been chauffeuring you around these last few days just to poison you? It's an adjuvant." Shepard's face was no less confused. "To strengthen the effects of the anaesthesia." Shepard must've been content with the answer; he promptly dropped the small pill under his tongue and closed his mouth.

Once in the skycar, Shepard, unable to talk, sat quietly as the Galactic News broadcasted over the aircar's radio.

"…_In other news, authorities are currently investigating the cause of the explosion of an Eldfell-Ashland Energy vessel that released hundreds of tons of dust-form element zero into the atmosphere of Yandoa, a Systems Alliance colony…"_

Shepard paid little attention to the broadcast, choosing instead to lean his head against his window and lose himself in the hypnotic effect of watching the skycars zoom by.

"John." Shepard heard his name being called and looked to his left to see that they had already arrived at Zarnow's, and that Miranda had already climbed out of the skycar. Shepard did the same and rejoined her in the elevator.

"All you feeling alright? You seem a bit out of it." Miranda looked up and down at Shepard, as if trying to diagnose him with her eyes alone.

"Just…bad dreams is all." Miranda's eyes stopped their survey.

"Mindoir?"

Shepard nodded but was careful to keep his eyes well out of range of Miranda's magnetic gaze. He had long since discovered that her eyes had the ability to null any and all of his defenses.

The elevator opened, though this time Zarnow wasn't there to greet them. They travelled down the same white corridor and entered the room at the end.

"John!" Shepard heard his name being stretched out in the Doctor's familiar, rather histrionic voice.

"Dr. Zarnow." Shepard gave a polite nod.

"And Miranda! I take it you heard of our success at Yandoa this morning?" _Yandoa?_ Shepard thought the name sounded familiar but couldn't place it.

"I did. You must be pleased."

"Naturally. Cerberus has already begun planning new facilities, though the children won't manifest their abilities for years. It's a shame I won't be able to get the whole batch, though." Zarnow leaned forward and whispered: "I hear the Alliance is starting up a new biotic academy to replace the BAaT after what happened last year."

Zarnow straightened his back and clapped his hand on Shepard's shoulder. "Well, at least I have you to study in the meantime, eh John?" Shepard smiled uneasily. "Now, if you'll follow me downstairs, we'll take your personal items and set you up with an IV."

"We? Miranda, you're coming?"

Zarnow laughed. "Oh, no, no, no. There're a couple other doctors who'll be assisting me. Ms. Lawson will be able to observe you from up here."

"You'll be fine, John. Go." Shepard stopped resisting the doctor's nudging and let his self be led from the room. Once he had been stripped of his possessions and subject to a lengthy decontamination process, he was led into a large, high ceiling white room filled with operating equipment. Aside from Zarnow, there were three other doctors inside, though he couldn't make out any of their faces as they were all wearing blue masks. One of them gestured for Shepard to sit down and then came over and hooked up his IV. The blue man, as Shepard came to think of the figure, pushed his head back and Shepard found himself lying flat against the table. He looked up at the ceiling and saw a series of long metallic arms.

"What're those?"

"Hmm?" Zarnow traced Shepard's gaze to the ceiling. "Oh! Yes, normally they'd be used for this type of procedure but I'm afraid there simply wasn't enough time to properly input and review the necessary data. One small mathematical error could lead to permanent full body paralysis, you know?"

Shepard, who was naturally uncomfortable enough in hospitals, was overcome with minor terror. It was then that he saw a shutter lift on the upper part of a nearby wall, revealing Miranda on the other side of a pane of glass.

Zarnow placed a mask over Shepard's nose and mouth. "Inhale and count to three!"

Shepard felt his body being drained of its strength. He weakly lifted up his hand and waved at Miranda, who uncrossed her arms and waved back in return. Shepard felt himself getting sleepy and his vision start fading.

"Hand me that razor, would…" Zarnow's voice was suddenly very distant. Then everything went black.

When Shepard woke next, he felt as though barely a second had gone by. His limbs were still heavy but now he could also feel a steady throbbing from the back of his neck. He rolled slowly onto his side and reached back warily to touch it. Though the back of his neck was covered in what felt like a large rectangular bandage, it was still sensitive to the touch.

He was about to pull his hand back when he noticed his head felt surprisingly light…and cold. He tried to run his fingers through his hair, but he no longer had any, save for a soft chestnut fuzz.

"Wha…?" Shepard blinked his eyes open and, after recovering from some momentary blindness, realized he was back in the room where he had been scanned the night before.

He tried to sit up but met resistance from a slender hand that reached out across his chest.

"Slowly, John." Miranda put down her datapad on a nearby table and rolled over closer to where he sat.

"They shaved my head?"

"I'm afraid so. Working around the skull base is delicate work and they wanted to minimize interference." Miranda reached up and held Shepard's face in her hands. He hoped she couldn't feel his cheeks warming.

"What're you-" Miranda put her thumbs under his eyes, leaned forward, and stared into them with a critical look.

"I'd like to get started node mapping as soon as possible, but I need to be sure most of the effects of the anaesthesia have worn off." Miranda pulled Shepard's face to the right, then left, then brought her hands to the sides of his neck and pressed her index and middle finger into his flesh. Shepard gulped and made a futile attempt to pull his eyes away from Miranda.

Miranda held up both her hands in a stop position. "Push." Shepard did.

"Good. Squeeze." Miranda held out her hands with her palms facing the floor. Shepard froze but then reached forward and brought his palms under hers and with his thumbs against the backs of her hands, squeezed gently. He let his hands linger like that, remembering that moment back on Mindoir when he had held her hand in his.

Miranda, briefly, had as well. She cleared her throat and removed her hands from Shepard's light grip.

Shepard, his hands still hanging in the air, quickly brought them back to his sides. "Where's Dr. Zarnow?"

"At home sleeping I imagine. Touch your fingers to your thumbs." Miranda demonstrated with her own hands.

"Sleeping?" Shepard mirrored Miranda's motions.

"The surgery was over twelve hours long, John."

"Twelve hours? I felt like I barely blinked." This time Shepard drew a circle in the air. "I thought all they did was put it at the base of your skull."

"And connect it to dozens of nerve endings without causing paralysis or retardation."

Miranda, satisfied with Shepard's performance, concluded her battery of tests.

"So what now?"

Miranda stood up and headed to a nearby terminal. "Now we mark your eezo nodes and figure out what movements will signal the proper pathways to activate them." The room dimmed and Shepard saw 3D images of his self and Miranda be projected into the middle of the room, above where he sat. He moved his arm and watched his digital self do the same. "This is seriously cool."

Again, Shepard watched as the various layers of tissues in his second self flickered away until all he could see were his EZNs, nervous system, skeleton, and ghostly outline of his skin. Miranda's holograph underwent a similar transformation.

"Take off your shirt and pants," Miranda called back nonchalantly; she was faced away from Shepard and pulling a small case out of a nearby cabinet.

Shepard, who had of course been through this entire process before and who had resigned himself to the fact that he would no longer be able to keep anything private from Miranda Lawson, sighed and started pulling his shirt over his head. Once stripped down to his boxer briefs, Shepard was acutely aware of the cool temperature of the room.

Miranda pulled over a small table on top of which was the small, metallic case.

"Hold out your arm like this." Miranda lifted her arm so it was perfectly horizontal. Shepard did the same.

Miranda turned and opened the small case, revealing dozens of circular stickers, each less than a centimeter in diameter. She took out the first one and balanced it carefully on her index finger tip of her right hand and held Shepard's arm in her left. Watching the interaction of their two holographs suspended in the air above her, Miranda placed the sticker on Shepard's skin not far from one of the blood red spheres. Shepard too was watching the projection, and noticed that Miranda's EZNs were far more numerous and a rosy pink.

"Pay attention to where these markers go, John," Miranda said in a chastening voice.

"Huh?" Shepard was still staring at the holographs.

"I expect you to memorize the locations and number of your EZNs by tomorrow. Eventually you'll have to memorize their relative sizes and densities as well."

"What for?" Shepard looked at Miranda as she continued placing the stickers on his tanned skin.

"The better understanding you have of your body, the better understanding you'll have of your biotics. The strength of your biotics and the degree of control you have over them depends not just on the frequency of the nervous impulses you send, but the number of and which EZNs you send them to. Other arm, please."

Shepard turned in his seat and held out his left arm. He looked at his right arm, which was dotted with over a dozen of the stickers. He wiggled his fingers and saw the stickers glow purple before fading again.

"Whoa. Are they supposed to do that?" Shepard wiggled his fingers more vigorously and watched the dozen stickers light up more brightly, each at a different time. He squeezed his fist and watched them all light up at once.

Miranda watched Shepard grin unabashedly as he played with the stickers. Miranda, amused by his fascination, decided not to berate him and simply continue her work on his left arm. "They glow whenever you generate dark energy from their respective EZN. It's how we'll map the nodes to specific muscular contractions."

"Hey, Miranda, check it out!" Shepard wiggled his pinky and lit up a single sticker.

Miranda shook her head but couldn't help smiling a little.

A few minutes later, when Shepard had mastered lighting up the better part of the markers on his right arm one at a time, Miranda let go of his left arm and told him to stand up.

"There's more?"

"Most nodes are in your arms, but there's also a substantial amount in the muscle wall of your upper chest, with a few more along your back, abdomen, and in your legs." Miranda took another sticker in her right hand and placed her left flat against Shepard's chest. Shepard, unable to concentrate, ceased playing with the markers on his arms.

Knowing that silence would only make his nervousness worse, he asked Miranda the first question that popped into his head.

"How'd you become a biotic? Were you born one like me?" Shepard noticed Miranda's hands slow at the question.

"If you're asking whether or not I was exposed in-utero, then no."

"So how?"

Miranda reached for another sticker. "I was exposed as a young girl."

"Industrial accident?"

"No," Miranda said flatly.

Shepard cocked his head to the side, obviously confounded. "I didn't know there were other ways."

Miranda continued working as she spoke: "I was deliberately exposed. Multiple times, in fact."

Shepard's face hardened. "By who?"

"My father. He…He wanted a daughter who'd also be a powerful biotic. At one point, he actually considered surgically taking EZNs from known biotics and implanting them. Naturally, he tried it first on a couple of test subjects but he could never find a way to keep their bodies from rejecting them, let alone use them." Shepard couldn't make out Miranda's expression in the dim lighting. "So he tried forceful exposure. But like I said before, where EZNs manifest is impossible to foresee. To him, they were never large enough or dense enough or in quite the right place. Thus the multiple exposures. He only stopped once the doctors convinced him any more would kill me. Even to this day, he believes my biotics aren't up to par."

Shepard was torn between the desire to hunt the man who had done such a thing to Miranda, and to simply reach out and hold her. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be. My father was a maniac. Though I suppose his efforts weren't a total failure: I'm still listed as one of the ten most powerful human biotics in the galaxy," Miranda said bitterly, as if her success was somehow a sick validation of her father's actions.

Shepard, against his better judgment, reached out and held her hand in his. He wished he knew what to say or what she needed to hear. But he didn't.

So he held her hand hoping that somehow she would understand everything he was feeling.

His anger.

His compassion.

His love.


	10. You got me a babysitter?

Disclaimer: Mass Effect and all its characters belong to Bioware.

**Hellhound**

Shepard had no idea how much that small action had affected Miranda.

She had been surprised enough that she had revealed that snippet of her past to him – though the fact she was a biotic was hardly a secret, the only other person she had ever openly discussed the nature of her exposure with was her old friend, Niket – but was even more surprised (and endeared) by the raw, nearly tangible emotion it had invoked in him. Not because she found it uncharacteristic of him, but because she was unaccustomed to others' sympathy (genuine or otherwise), courtesy of her normally icy and lofty demeanor.

When Shepard finally looked up from Miranda's hand to her face, he saw that an uncomfortable expression had spread across it. Miranda pulled away and Shepard quickly withdrew his hand from hers and squeezed it into a fist beside him.

_Idiot_.

Shepard looked to his side, away from Miranda, and suddenly realized how foolish he must've looked, practically naked save for his underpants and the three or four dozen markers spread out across his arms and chest. Inwardly, he imagined himself climbing into a very dark, deserted hole.

An awkward silence hung in the air as Miranda continued placing the markers, and with each passing silent second Shepard felt like somehow she was moving further out of his reach. How could anything he ever say be insightful or witty or funny enough before a woman who was so…perfect?

Shepard felt his chest tighten and, had he not had his eyes squeezed shut in frustration and had Miranda not been working on his back, one of them might've noticed the brief, bright illumination of its markers.

"Right," Miranda started once she had finished, "so from here the process is straightforward enough: copy the motions of the figure that comes up on the display. The markers will record the subsequent dark energy output and forward the data wirelessly to that terminal. Once we have a basic idea of what we're working with, we'll be able to start developing an individualized regimen of physical mnemonics."

"Basic idea?"

"Yes. Today's test will be relatively simple; it'll provide us with, metaphorically, the pieces of a larger puzzle with multiple solutions. In future tests, which will be conducted by Dr. Zarnow, you'll effectively experiment with different combinations of those pieces and the sequence in which you put them together."

"So you won't be there with me?" Shepard tried to sound as aloof as possible.

"I'm afraid not. These last few days have been something of an exception, John. While I remain directly responsible for your practical biotic training, Dr. Zarnow will be the one collecting the data and running the numbers. Outside Cerberus operatives will also be training you in hand-to-hand combat, weapons proficiency, physical fitness, infiltration, sabotage, seduction, and the like."

_Seduction?_ Shepard blushed.

"They'll cover that particular problem in deception." Miranda stood and headed for the door. "If you'll excuse me, I need to make a phone call. I'll be back in…" she glanced down at her omnitool. "Forty minutes. You should be done by then."

Miranda activated the door console, causing it to hiss open and let streams of harsh, fluorescent light invade the room. Shepard squinted and watched Miranda's figure cross the threshold before the door snapped back shut, leaving him sitting alone in the dark.

* * *

><p>Miranda returned, like clockwork, in precisely forty minutes.<p>

"Ready?" she asked, standing in the doorway.

Shepard finished pulling on his shirt and took off a couple of markers on his arms he had missed, dropping them into a nearby tin. "Yeah," he said, jumping down from the chair. As soon as he had landed on his feet, Miranda turned and began her brisk walk down the white corridor to the elevator.

Shepard trailed behind her, his hands stuffed in his pockets and his eyes looking down near the floor, watching Miranda's heels click rhythmically against the metal surface. Though he knew his efforts were likely in vain, he was trying nevertheless to guess what she was thinking. What had she thought when he had reached out to her? What was she thinking now as they wait in the elevator?

Was it maybe about him?

Shepard twisted his face into a grimace at his arrant self-obsession. What he ought to be worried about, he told himself, was what the repercussions of his momentary lapse in judgment would be. Would he be switched over to a new handler? Would the entire program be shut down? Would the new life he was starting fall apart as quickly as his old one had been destroyed?

It was Miranda's voice that finally freed him from his paranoid contemplations. Her eyes never leaving the road, she spoke: "I'm afraid an assignment has come up that I have to leave for once I drop you off back at the apartment."

Shepard lifted his head and looked over to her. "An assignment for Cerberus?"

Miranda ignored his question and continued. "I've contacted a friend to watch over you in the meantime. I should be back later ton—"

"Wait a minute. You got me a babysitter?" Shepard's voice was incredulous.

Miranda looked at Shepard with a cold, patronizing stare. "I don't have time for any teenage rebellion, Shepard."

_Shepard?_ _She must be angry._ Was it his questioning her? Doubtful, as she had been obliging enough thus far in answering whatever questions he had. That left her 'assignment' and what happened back at Zarnow's.

Again, _idiot_.

"Fine. Here's me pocketing any plans for violent overthrow." As always, Miranda's treating him like a child put him into an ill-humored mood. Shepard leaned back and sighed. "So who is it? Your friend, I mean."

"His name's Niket. He's one of few people I would even call a friend, and one of fewer still I would say I trust." Shepard noticed Miranda seemed to thaw somewhat as she spoke about this 'Niket.' He felt his chest tighten and his blood start rushing to his head at her subtle change.

"He's also unaware of my affiliation with Cerberus, and I would prefer to keep it that way." Miranda gave Shepard a dire look.

"My lips are sealed," Shepard said sarcastically.

Miranda was readying herself to berate him when they arrived at the apartment towers. "Let's go," she said more forcefully than usual.

Shepard stepped out of the aircar and went to the penthouse elevator. "When's he getting here?"

"He already _is_ here."

"What? How'd he get in the apartment?" Shepard slowed down as he spoke the second half of the sentence, careful not to say 'our' apartment.

Miranda scoffed. "Using the codes, I would guess."

"He has the codes? I _live_ here and _I_ don't even have the codes," Shepard retorted angrily. Miranda ignored him again. "I can already tell I don't like him," he muttered bitterly.

Miranda looked at Shepard with an exasperated look on her face. "Stop being _ridiculous_, John. He's only here-"

Shepard cut Miranda off. "_I'm_ being ridiculous? I'm not the one—"

Miranda cut him off in turn and hissed back: "You _are_ being ridiculous. If you'd stop acting like such a damn child—"

"Stop calling me a child! You're only _four_ years older than me – hardly old enough to get so high and mi—"

The elevator doors opened, and Miranda and Shepard stopped their shushed bickering when they heard a low, gruff voice call out across the apartment.

"Miri?"

Miranda looked back at John with one last look that very clearly said '_behave_.'

Shepard rolled his eyes but still followed her into the apartment.

"Niket! I see you made it here well." Miranda's demeanor visibly brightened as she leaned forward to give the man a kiss on either cheek. As if that action itself weren't enough to sour Shepard's mood, Shepard could see the man's hand resting lightly against Miranda's hip.

"Please, Miri. I've been here dozens of times before."

_Dozens?_ Shepard bit his tongue as he tried to maintain a composed face.

"And you must be John!" Niket turned to Shepard and held out his hand.

Shepard instinctively straightened his back, reaching his full 6'0'' height, and puffed out his chest. In the corner of his eye he could see Miranda raise one hand to her temple and shake her head.

"Wow, they grow them big in Mindoir, huh?" Niket started. "…And strong," he added as Shepard shook his hand, gripping more tightly than necessary.

"City-dwellers always are considerably more…._effete_ than those of us who grow up in the colonies," Shepard said, his eyes boring into Niket. Niket looked back at Miranda leerily.

Miranda walked over to where Shepard stood, gripped his shoulder, and pulled him away from Niket. "It's a side effect of his surgery."

"The new L3, right?" Niket looked at Shepard.

Shepard, still held back by Miranda, managed to hold his tongue. "Right."

Miranda sighed in relief. "Well, now that that's taken care of, I really have to get going. Niket." Shepard crossed his arms as Niket gave Miranda a kiss on either cheek, _again_. "John." Miranda turned to Shepard and put one hand on his arm. She leaned forward, kissed him on his left cheek, and whispered into his ear, "Try to behave…" she kissed him on his right cheek and whispered (rather threateningly) into his other ear, "Ok?"

"I will if he does."

Miranda shook her head one last time. "So I'll be back later tonight. And thank you again, Niket. I know it was very last minute."

"It's no problem, Miri. What're friends for?" Niket smiled and Miranda smiled back.

Shepard fought the urge to gag.

The three said their good-byes and Niket and Shepard stood side-by-side as they watched Miranda leave through the elevator.

Once she had gone, Niket clapped a hand against Shepard's back and said: "What a woman, eh John?"

Shepard, totally silent, glared at the man's face and then the hand he held against Shepard's back. Niket took his hand off Shepard warily and put it into his pocket.

"So…what's your relationship to Miri exactly?" Niket asked.

"Whatever she told you it is," Shepard responded bluntly. He and Niket were still standing awkwardly in the middle of the room.

"Uhh, right. A relative of a colleague, was it?"

"Sounds about right." Shepard kept staring down at Niket, who was a good 4-5 inches shorter than him.

"Right."

Shepard, thirsty and willing to give the man – who, ostensibly, hadn't actually done anything wrong – a _slight_ break, headed towards the kitchen. "Want a drink?"

"Water's fine," Niket called back in a relieved voice.

Shepard came back with two glasses and a pitcher of water, walked down the three stairs to the recessed area of the apartment in front of the wall display, and put his load down on the glass table. He took a seat on one of the black leather couches, and Niket took a seat on the other.

After a few moments' silence, Niket spoke up. "Look, John. I heard about what happened on Mindoir and I just wanted to say…I'm so sorry."

As hard as Shepard wanted to be angry with Niket and as hard as he wanted to believe that his condolences were nothing but artificial, he couldn't. The man, thus far, had seemed like an actually decent guy.

"Thanks."

"Were you there? The night that it…you know…"

Shepard looked down into his glass. "Yeah."

"…your family?" Shepard was irritated by the man's concern. His, after all, was not the concern he longed for.

"Dead." Shepard leaned his head against the back of the couch and closed his eyes. "My mom, dad, sister…"

"I can't even imagine. You didn't see them…killed, did you?"

"I…" Shepard wasn't sure why he was allowing himself to talk so freely with Niket. He was supposed to hate him. Niket was supposed to be his competition.

But, for the first time in days, he actually felt like he could talk about what happened.

He had pushed the events of that night so far out of his head, Mindoir really did seem like a different life, and now he was slowly trying to join them with his current reality.

"My parents…yeah. But my sister Izzy…all I saw was her taken away." Shepard covered his face with his hand and let out a hollow, pained laugh. "I don't even know if she's really dead."

Niket was silent as Shepard regained his composure. "You know, she may not seem the type, but you should considering talking to Miri about this."

Shepard took a deep breath, took his hand from his face, and looked across the table to Niket. "Why do you say that?"

"Miri…well, it's really not my place to give all the details but she also had a sister taken from her. Kidnapped and probably held for ransom because her father is one of the richest men alive. They never found out what happened to her, though that's not to say her father ever stopped looking."

"A sister?"

"Oriana, yeah," Niket said, more to himself than to Shepard. "God, I saw her when she was just a few months old. She was beautiful, John. Really beautiful. And you know what? I've never seen Miri as happy as she was those two years they had her."

Shepard smiled at the idea. "Somehow I just can't really picture Miranda that way."

Niket looked over at Shepard. "Miri can be…cold, I know."

"That's an understatement," Shepard said jokingly.

Niket smiled now that Shepard was opening up a bit. "I take it you've seen her angry?"

"Briefly. Maybe more annoyed than angry, too."

Niket grinned. "Then you ought to be grateful."

Shepard grinned back. "I don't doubt it."

Once the moment had passed, Niket settled back into the couch and sighed. "Miri can be cold and she can even seem unfeeling but…growing up the way she did, she really did need some kind of defense mechanism. And that's hers."

"So what did you have to do to get past it?"

"Honestly? Sometimes I'm not even sure I have."

"Bullshit," Shepard said. "I haven't seen her smile once the entire time I've been here. That is, until she talked to you today."

"Miri's an expert at wearing masks, John. That was probably just a different one."

Shepard leaned his head back and groaned. "Miranda Lawson. How does she not drive you crazy?"

"Believe me," Niket laughed, "she does."

* * *

><p>When Miranda returned to the apartment, it was to the sound of 'Enkindle THIS!' being played over the penthouse surround sound followed shortly thereafter by Niket and Shepard's uproarious laughter.<p>

She walked alongside the staircase with a curious look on her face and, when she finally turned into the main area, saw the two sprawled across the couches, drinking, finishing off their second extra-large pizza, and watching a hanar strangle a krogan to death with its tentacles.

"Is that..." she started, looking at the empty cans.

"What?" Niket turned around and followed her glance to the table. "C'mon Miri, it was two drinks. Adult supervision, right? Plus, look at this kid. He's built like a tank!"

Miranda was unimpressed.

Shepard leaned his head back over the edge of the couch so that he could see Miranda, albeit upside down. "How was uhh…work?"

"Fine, thank you. Niket, you can go."

"You sure, Miri? I can help clean up." Niket, sensing Miranda's nascent anger, made his offer halfhearted at best.

"That's quite alright. I'm sure John will be more than willing to handle it."

Shepard sat up and turned around. "Actually, I wouldn't mind—" Miranda glared at him and Shepard promptly shut his mouth.

"Right, then…I think I'm going to go. It was nice seeing you Miri."

"Likewise." Niket waited around awkwardly, wondering whether or not he and Miranda would share their habitual cheek-kissing goodbye. Apparently not.

"Ok. So I'm going." Niket was about to leave when he turned to Shepard. "You've got my e-mail?"

"Right here."

Miranda glared.

Niket, not wanting to push his luck, nodded his head once at Miranda and made a beeline for the elevator. Once he had left, Miranda turned back to where Shepard sat on the couch.

"What?" he asked innocently.

"Nothing." Miranda had started to sigh when she suddenly took a very sharp breath.

Shepard stood up and walked towards her. "Miranda? What is it?"

"Just help me get out of this jacket, would you?" Shepard nodded and Miranda turned around.

"What the hell Miranda?" Shepard noticed numerous small holes that had ripped through the leather jacket and the profuse blood that was caked onto it. "Why didn't you tell us about this once you got here?"

"I told you, Niket doesn't know I'm Cerberus." Shepard carefully pulled back one sleeve, trying to minimize Miranda's pain. She refused to give any hint to what she was feeling though, so Shepard had to guess based on how she tensed up her body.

Shepard finally managed to get the jacket off and let it drop to the floor. Underneath, Miranda was wearing a tight, long-sleeve gray shirt whose back was thoroughly soaked in blood.

"Take this." Miranda held a knife back over her shoulder for Shepard. "Cut off my shirt."

Shepard, feeling the urgency of the situation, forgot any nervousness. He took the knife and cut straight through the shirt, from the neck to the tailbone. He peeled the shirt away from her skin and grimaced at the sight of her mauled back.

"There's alcohol under the sink and gauze in the medicine cabinet." Shepard was about to make his way to the kitchen when he noticed Miranda slump and nearly lose balance.

"C'mon, you need to sit."

"I'm fine," she said stubbornly.

"Yeah, well consider it a personal favor." Unsure how else to hold her, Shepard put his hands on Miranda's hips and steered her to a stool near the vista.

Once she was seated, Shepard jogged over to the kitchen and grabbed his supplies. He returned to Miranda, and took a piece of gauze in one hand, put it over the opened bottle of alcohol, and flipped the bottle upside down. Once he felt the moisture seeping through the gauze to his hand, he flipped it back upright and rested it on the nearby table. He started wiping some of the blood away, revealing the shrapnel embedded in her skin. Miranda hissed out in pain.

"Sorry! It's just I can't see anything."

"Just get it done, John!" Shepard was briefly distracted as he contemplated whether or not he should take it as a good thing that they were back on a mutual first-name basis.

"Ok, I think I'm good."

Miranda grabbed the knife Shepard had laid on the table and held it out. "Then dig them out."

"Shouldn't I disinfect this or something?" he asked, taking the knife.

"Look, the medigel can handle all of that. But what it can't do is dig the shrapnel out of my goddamned skin. And please God tell me you're not buzzed."

"No, but thanks for the vote of confidence. Ready?"

"Wait. Grab me one of your shirts, would you?"

"I don't think—"

"Just do it, John." Shepard sprinted to his room, returned with a shirt, and handed it to Miranda. She folded it over, twisted it, and put it between her teeth.

"Ready?" Miranda turned her head to the side and glared at Shepard, who was standing behind her.

Shepard looked down at her back, readied his knife, and started prying the shrapnel from Miranda's back. He could hear her grunt and see her back tense. He pulled out the first bloody piece, caught it in his left hand, and dropped it into a bowl he had brought to the table. Miranda's breathing had already grown heavier.

"One down," Shepard said. _Only about two dozen to go._

* * *

><p>An hour later, the small bowl was nearly full and Shepard had applied medigel to the better part of Miranda's back.<p>

"Can you lift your arms a little?" Shepard asked.

Miranda did, allowing Shepard to loop the dressing around her midsection and then around the last exposed section of her still bloodied back.

"I think we're good." Shepard stepped back and cracked his neck. "Want me to get one of your shirts?"

"It'd be easier if you just give me one of your button ups."

"Yeah, sure." Shepard disappeared briefly into his room before emerging again. "You wanna tell me what happened tonight?" he asked, handing her the shirt.

"Last night, actually."

Shepard kept looking straight at Miranda who realized she wouldn't be able to change the subject. But that didn't mean she couldn't simply avoid it.

"It was an assignment for Cerberus. That's all you need to know and all you're _going_ to know."

Shepard walked around to the other side of the table and sat down. "Just one of Miranda Lawson's many secrets."

"Everyone has their secrets, John."

"Mmhmm. And some more than others."

Miranda raised an eyebrow. "Is there something you want to ask me?"

Shepard sighed and hauled himself up. "Not tonight, no. Can I help you get to bed?" Shepard deliberately phrased the question as though it was him asking for a favor instead of offering his help (which, he noticed, Miranda was rarely keen on taking).

"Yes, you can." Shepard held Miranda's arm in his hand and walked with her across the apartment. When they reached the stairs, he kept behind her, worried that she might fall. Once she arrived at the top, he held back, and watched her make her way to her bed. Still standing on the stairs, he crossed his arms on top of the railing surrounding her room, which was open to, though elevated from, the rest of the apartment.

Almost as soon as Miranda's head touched her pillow, the raven-haired beauty fell asleep. Shepard smiled to himself.

"Sweet dreams, Miranda."

Shepard wanted to ask her about her sister, but that would have to wait. For now, he would sleep.


	11. So THAT'S what a mass effect is

Disclaimer: Mass Effect and all its characters belong to Bioware

**Hellhound**

"You're kidding." Shepard looked down at the plate piled with eggs, hash browns, bacon, sausage, and pancakes.

"What?" Miranda took the fork from her mouth and slowed her chewing.

"You cook?" Shepard pulled out the seat across the table from Miranda and sat down.

"Not normally. I find cooking for one to be something of a waste of time."

Shepard picked up a fork and knife but didn't know where to start. "I don't think I can even eat all of this."

"Well you'll have to. You're going to need the energy." Miranda reached across the table for the pot of coffee.

"I knew it was just a matter of time before you started using me for hard physical labor." Shepard decided to start with the eggs.

Miranda gave Shepard a bored stare. "Really, John. When are you going to realize that jokes aren't your strong suit?" Shepard shrugged. "It's for your training. We're starting today."

"Already?"

Miranda was about to reply when she heard a familiar ping, indicating that a package had arrived in the pneumatic tube. "That must be it."

"Must be what?" Shepard turned around in his chair and craned his neck in the direction of the elevator, beside which was the mailing system.

Miranda put down her fork, brought her elbows to the table, and rested her chin on her interlocked hands. "Why don't you see for yourself?"

Shepard gave her a curious look as he backed out his chair and made his way over to the tube. "How do I get it out?"

"The large red button, John." Shepard looked back and could see Miranda's eyes laughing. He gave a forced half-smile then turned back to the pneumo and withdrew the package, no larger than a brick. He brought it back to the table and sat down.

"You have something I can open this with?" Shepard looked over to Miranda, who lifted her right leg so her knee was bent and her foot was on the seat of her chair. Shepard was momentarily hypnotized by her leg's milky white skin; Miranda was still dressed in his white button up which was just long enough to hide her short black shorts. The spell, however, was broken when she withdrew a long (and considerably terrifying) blade from a sheath that had been wrapped around her upper thigh.

Miranda deftly spun the blade around in her hand and held out the handle to Shepard.

"How…? Thanks." Shepard reached across the table, took the knife, and used it to open the package. He slid off the outer casing and pulled out a long, metallic case emblazoned with a Cerberus logo in its center. He turned it over in his hands, finally finding two catches, one on either side of the case.

Shepard looked up at Miranda briefly as he put the small box down flat against the table. He pushed the catches inward and the lid slid backwards with an almost imperceptible hiss.

Inside there was a dense, black packaging foam in the center of which was a small square about the size of a keyboard key.

"This is a bio-amp?"

"Custom made."

Shepard picked it up between his thumb and index finger and brought it closer to his face, carefully examining the small wires running through it and the miniscule golden font along its side.

"Typhon," he read out loud. "You guys are really into your Greek mythology, huh?" Miranda brought her cup of coffee to her lips as she looked up and to the right and nodded. "Let me guess, yours says Echidna?"

"Siren, actually."

Shepard put the amp back into the case. "Damn, that was my second guess."

Miranda put down her mug. "My first one was an Echidna. Want me to put that in for you?" Miranda motioned with her chin to the amp.

"Be my guest." Miranda stood and walked around the table, stopping behind Shepard's chair. Shepard felt her cold hands against his hot neck as she began peeling away the bandage. Seconds later he saw her hand stretch out beside him and lay the bandage on the barren end of the table. She reached back to his neck and he felt a sharp pinch.

"Ow! What was that?" Shepard reached up to touch his neck only to have Miranda swat his hand away. Her left hand on his left shoulder, she leaned over his right shoulder and turned her head to speak to him. When she spoke, Shepard could feel her warm breath on his ear.

"Oh please, John. You have the pain threshold of about a five-year-old. _That_," she said, lifting a translucent amp to his face with her right hand, "was a dummy amp. They're used to keep debris out post-op." Miranda dropped the dummy into Shepard's upturned palm and reached for the Typhon.

Shepard, whose entire body was tingling from Miranda's proximity, looked around the room as he waited for her to put in the amp. "So what makes this amp so special?"

Miranda tossed her hair out of her face as she leaned in to get a better look at the insert site. "Well, our tests show that you certainly don't lack for raw biotic power. Ultimately, it was ruled that any power or duration bonuses an amp could provide would be insubstantial." Miranda blew lightly on the implant. "So Typhon is entirely concentrated on hastening your cool down period."

"Which is what exa—ah!" Shepard inhaled sharply as Miranda slid in the amp and locked it in place. Miranda stepped back and used one hand to move Shepard's head this way and that as she observed her handiwork. Shepard sat grumpily as his head was pulled from side to side.

"We've established that biotics create mass effect fields by sending multiple, rapid nervous signals through eezo nodules, yes?"

"Yeah." Shepard tried to reach back to rub his neck only to have Miranda swat away his hand again.

"Every time a pathway is activated, it needs a short period of recovery before it can be _re_activated." Miranda walked around the table and started collecting her dishes.

"A refractory period."

"So they do actually teach you things out in the colonies."

Shepard scowled.

"Right, well Typhon will help shorten the refractory period; it'll speed up the rebalancing of ion levels across synaptic clefts, cell membranes, and the like."

"And I'll be able to use my biotics in quicker succession."

"Precisely." Miranda left the dining room and entered the nearby kitchen.

Shepard puffed out his cheeks as he exhaled and leaned back in his chair, balancing on its two back legs. "So when do we get started?"

From the kitchen, Miranda leaned forward on the counter along the cutout in the wall that separated the dining from kitchen area. "Right now. My fall break's finally over though, so I'll have to head into the city for class at 2:40. Which reminds me, we have to get you enrolled in a local high school."

Shepard nearly fell of his chair at the sudden intake of information.

"Right now? What about your back?"

"Already healed." Shepard looked at Miranda skeptically as he picked up his dishes and brought them to the counter. Miranda sighed, turned around, and lifted up the back of her shirt. Sure enough, her skin had returned to its former flawless condition.

Shepard reached across the counter and ran the back of his fingers along her back as if to convince himself what he was seeing was actually real. "That's amazing. Even with medigel, I'm pretty sure people don't normally heal _that_ fast."

Miranda tensed and stepped out of Shepard's reach. "I take it you believe me now."

"I mean, yeah. Pretty hard not to."

"Good. I'll finish up here while you get changed. I've reserved the apartment dojo for us for the next few hours; we can head down once you're ready."

Shepard's eyes widened. "This place has it's own dojo?" Miranda looked back at Shepard as she brought the dishes to the sink.

"You're not on Mindoir anymore, John."

* * *

><p>Ten minutes or so later, Shepard was walking into a massive dojo, completely empty save for himself and Miranda. He looked straight up at the ceiling, which was at least a hundred feet above him. The upper half of the dojo seemed to be lined with windows, through which came a blinding light.<p>

"I thought we were in the basement." Never taking his eyes from the ceiling, Shepard turned his body full circle as he surveyed the room.

"We are. The entire room is covered in the same microfilm monitors as your bedroom. You haven't noticed that the bamboo floor doesn't actually feel like bamboo?"

Shepard squatted down and put his hand against the floor. Cold metal. "So in reality, we're standing in the middle of a large metal box?"

"I'd say that's a fairly accurate description."

Shepard hung his head and sighed. "I kind of wish I hadn't asked." He was about to stand again when he felt Miranda's hand push down on his shoulder.

"Sit." Shepard did and watched as Miranda sat down, cross-legged, in front of him.

"Is this some kind of meditation thing? Because I thought-"

"Tell me what biotics are, John. In one sentence."

_Great,_ Shepard thought to himself, _a test. That's even worse._ He stayed silent for a few moments as he thought what he would say.

"They're…how people set off certain nervous signals which run through EZNs and produce dark energy, allowing us to manipulate mass effect fields." Shepard played over what he had just said in his head and concluded that it did, in fact, make sense.

"Good. And what is a mass effect field?"

Shepard crossed his arms against his chest and leaned his head to the side as he composed an answer.

"An area within which you can increase or decrease the mass content of spacetime."

"Acceptable." _Already headed downhill._ Shepard sighed. "So how do you get from changing mass content to the actions we know as biotics? That is, throw, warp etc."

Shepard responded almost immediately: "I have no idea."

"Which is precisely why we're sitting here. Simply letting you start using biotics immediately would be the equivalent of letting an infant play with a mass accelerator cannon."

_I've been downgraded to an infant. Fantastic._

"Perhaps it would be best if we started with a simple definition of spacetime, or rather space since time is really just an arbitrary measurement of the universe's life cycle."

"What?"

"We're defining space."

"Got it."

"Space is a basic physical component of the universe. It can be neither created nor destroyed. Shall I assume you find this an acceptable assertion?"

"Yea."

"Now imagine, if you would, a series of parallel lines." Miranda looked to Shepard to make sure he was following. "These lines are elastic. If you pull one, instead of remaining in its curved shape once you let go, it will want to return to its original, perfectly straight nature."

"I know what elastic means, Miranda."

"I've long since learned not to assume too much of you, John."

"This is about the pneumo, isn't it?"

"Concentrate. Now imagine a small sphere being placed between two of the lines. The lines will warp and bend around the sphere, consequently warp the lines adjacent to them, and so on and so on. Still with me?"

"I'm offended," Shepard said flatly.

"Fair enough. Now because the lines are elastic-"

"They'll push against the sphere."

"With a force equal to the matter/energy displacing it."

"Which are the same things."

"For all intents and purposes, yes. Think of matter as contained energy."

"Ok, so?"

"Now the displaced space force is what is commonly known as gravity."

"I thought gravity was the attractive force between—"

Miranda sighed. "If I didn't know better, John, I'd think they were teaching you from century old textpads back on Mindoir. Gravity was a bit of a misnomer that was so engrained in the human psyche in the 21st century, there was no attempt to set the record straight. A phenomenon similar, I suppose, to the way humanity stubbornly insists on using its own system of measurement, rather than the galactic standardized one."

"Right, so new definition of gravity."

"Not _new_, just _correct_."

"So how is this related to biotics?"

"We're getting there. Now remember our sphere? The one that curved space?"

"Yea."

"When a volume, such as the sphere, curves space it is considered a closed volume. Furthermore, the interaction between the volume and space causes the volume to take on properties characteristic of mass. This is known as the mass effect."

"And what happens if you have a volume that doesn't curve space?"

"Those would be open volumes. They're essentially vacuums. And they're the basis for biotic moves such as lift."

"So when I use biotics, I'm essentially manipulating the nature of the volumes within an object."

"I believe that would be an adequate approach to your biotics for now, yes."

"I'm still about 90% confused." Shepard collapsed back against the floor.

"Quite frankly, that's better than I hoped for." Miranda reached over to the gym bag she had brought with her and took out a small stress ball. "Here."

Shepard sat back up and looked at the ball, now balanced in the center of Miranda's palm. He watched her arm glow purple seconds before the ball itself as it was lifted into the air.

"Now the situation I just described to you, with the parallel lines and the sphere, is representative of a single plane. In reality, the number of planes that exist are infinite, each exerting its own gravity. By controlling where in an object you will concentrate open and closed volumes, you can manipulate the force of gravity pushing against an object's surface at any given point. If I concentrate the closed volumes on the bottom half of this ball for instance…" Shepard watched as the ball shot up into the air. "The displaced space force pushing back against those volumes will be greater, and the ball will rise." Miranda let the ball fall back down and caught it in her hand.

Shepard reached forward, thinking Miranda meant to have him attempt a similar feat.

"I'm afraid you're not ready for something that advanced," she said, pulling her hand away from Shepard.

"You're kidding?"

"I'm not. I seriously doubt your ability to maintain a stable mass effect field, let alone control one. As you are now, any attempt to so much as lift an object could very well digress into a warp."

"So what do you want me to do?"

Miranda held out an empty hand and a bright purple sphere burst into life. "Make an orb; it will be your object. Use your biotics to control the volumes inside of it. Make it whatever size you're comfortable with, but be sure to keep it that way. Once you've established control, we'll continue."

"And how will you know? Whether I've established 'control' or not, I mean." Shepard, cross-legged, sat bent forward as he stared at his hand.

"All biotics can sense shifting mass effect fields, John. Now try it."

Shepard opened his palm and spread his fingers, bending them slightly upwards. He stared at his right hand intensely, but to no avail. Frustrated, he clenched his hand into a fist only to open it abruptly back up again, each time expecting a purple orb with a fluctuating surface to appear as it had done so easily for Miranda.

Miranda, well aware of Shepard's fruitless tactics – his most recent being to simply tense the muscles in his fingers – grabbed his wrist to get his attention and looked him in the eyes. "Your EZNs are in your arm, John, not your fingers." She let go of him as she continued to speak. "Remember where your markers were?" Shepard nodded. "_That's_ where you need to be sending the signals through. Again."

Another few minutes passed, with Shepard's greatest achievement being the creation of a small blue wisp in the palm of his hand, which had flickered out almost as soon as it had appeared.

Miranda, her frustration now increasing with Shepard's own, decided on a new approach.

"Make a fist and flex your arm." Shepard did, repeatedly. He felt the contractions work their way down from his shoulder to the tips of his fingers, each following the last in a rhythmic procession of waves. Slowly, a pale purple flame emerged, trailing behind what muscles he flexed. At first they would fade away once the muscle relaxed again, but gradually the flame would endure longer and longer and its light glow brighter and brighter. Shepard opened his hand and clenched it shut one last time, and the flames erupted from his arm, swallowing his flesh in a blinding purple.

Shepard laughed out loud and held his arm out in front of him. It felt…weightless. His skin seemed to be sensitive to even the slightest breeze. The purple glow it emanated enveloped one side of his face.

"The orb, John," Miranda said. Shepard opened his hand wider ever so slightly and a fragile amethyst blossom sprung forth. His veins coursed with what felt like liquid fire. He felt the energy race through his arm and the static shocks that jumped between nodes, finally tapering out into an unrelenting tingling that reached all the way to his fingertips.

Yet the finicky blossom retreated as quickly as it had emerged, simply vanishing into thin air.

"Control it, John. _Maintain_ the field." Shepard summoned the purple flame once again and tried to keep it in place. What Miranda called volumes, Shepard thought of as millions of tiny fireworks, no larger than a pinpoint. They moved at his mental beckoning, and while he couldn't control them completely, he seemed to be able to at least scare them in a general direction. He couldn't see them, but Miranda was right: he could _feel_ them.

Shepard noticed the sphere start rolling away from the center of his hand, and drove the swarm in the opposite direction.

Miranda felt the rapid, violent bending of a mass effect field and saw the purple orb be propelled across the room until it, once outside Shepard's manageable radius, simply dissipated into nothing.

Miranda, intellectually enthralled by Shepard's rapid progression and his ability to bend mass effect fields with such apparent ease (it normally took weeks for a first time biotic to be able to manipulate them to any substantial degree), moved closer to him. "Again."

This time, when Shepard called forward the orb, Miranda suspended her hands in the air on either side of it. "Feel what I'm doing, John." Shepard passed most of the control of the orb to Miranda and could immediately sense the difference in the way they manipulated the volumes. Compared to Miranda, who's handling was incontestably purposeful and meticulously measured, Shepard's was rough and organic.

Miranda returned control to Shepard, who resumed his endeavor to keep the sphere in place. Every time he was about to lose control or use more power than was necessary, he could feel Miranda's guiding presence.

It wasn't until Miranda announced that she had to leave that Shepard realized just how much time had passed.

"So can I just hang out in the apartment while you're gone?" Shepard asked, as they made their way to the elevator.

"Actually, you'll be meeting your foster parents who will get you set up at your new school." Miranda reached forward for the elevator console, and the two began their ascent.

"That has to be some kind of code, right?"

"I suppose. Your foster parents are the same Cerberus operatives that will be training you but they're still, as far as the paperwork goes, your foster parents. And you _will_ be enrolled in a local public school."

Shepard slumped against the wall. "I don't get it. You guys are basically teaching me everything else, so why not add what I'd learn in school?"

"We've never had an operative who started with a record as clean as yours. For the time being, we're just focusing on making sure that you seem, as far as anyone other than ourselves can tell, completely normal."

"Normal. Right." They stepped out of the elevator into the parking level, Miranda heading for the aircar while Shepard moved for the elevator that led to the penthouse. "See you for dinner tonight?"

"Don't wait up." Shepard watched Miranda climb in to the aircar and speed off into the distance.


	12. When Everything Hurts

Disclaimer: Mass Effect and all its characters belong to Bioware.

**Hellhound**

Shepard was stretched out across the crouch, his ankles crossed and balancing on one arm of the couch, his head on the other. His left arm positioned comfortably behind his head, he was holding out his right as he guided a shimmering violet globe throughout the apartment.

He brought the biotic sphere back to the palm of his hand and looked over at the clock mounted on the wall: half past three. And still she wasn't here.

Shepard had been expecting her to step out of the elevator every minute of the last…he didn't know how many hours. _Probably be shot up again when she does._ He sighed, frustrated that Miranda seemed completely disinterested in telling him what had happened that night.

His concentration broken (as so often was the case when Miranda entered his thoughts in the slightest), Shepard lost control of the sphere, which flew out of his hand straight for a nearby lamp. And an expensive looking one at that.

"Shit!" Shepard quickly turned over on his stomach, pulled himself forward with one hand, and reached with the other for the lamp that had already been knocked off a nearby table. He looked to his outstretched hand and then to the falling lamp and knew he wasn't going to make it.

Then it was suddenly enveloped in purple mist and gracefully repositioned on the metal coffee table. Shepard put his left hand against the back of his neck and looked slowly behind him.

"Hey, Miranda. Welcome home."

_Home?_ Miranda let the corner of her mouth curve upward. Welcome home. Such a simple phrase, yet one that she couldn't recall ever having heard spoken to her. Among all of her father's mansions and orbiting apartments and beachfront properties, and among all the Cerberus safehouses she had ever occupied, she had never once thought of one as her 'home.' But now…

_No,_ she thought to herself. She wasn't one to get caught up in such sentimentality. She wouldn't let herself be.

"I see you've managed to keep the apartment in one piece."

"And I see you've managed to come home in one piece."

Miranda gave a short laugh as she made her way to the kitchen. "I daresay that was almost clever of you, John."

Shepard was about to preen his ego when he realized there was a possibility she was being sarcastic. Wanting to not make a fool of himself and preserve this small victory, he decided it best to keep quiet.

"So how'd everything go?" Miranda returned from the kitchen with a bottle of carbonated water, and started walking in Shepard's direction.

A small alert went off in Shepard's head that this might be a signal she was going to sit next to him. He sat up and made himself as small as possible, believing this would maximize his chance of success. "Well, one of them basically assaulted me the second I stepped out of the elevator."

Shepard watched as Miranda took a seat on the couch on the opposite side of the table. He turned his head and glared at the space he had opened up, as if somehow it were to blame.

"And?" Miranda leaned back and crossed her legs.

"And five minutes later he just stopped and said, 'Yeah, I can work with this.'"

"That certainly sounds like Andrei. And Fatinah?"

"I don't know. Most of the time she seems really nice but sometimes…sometimes she gives off this vibe that makes me expect a knife in the back." Shepard shuddered as he remembered her sickly sweet smile.

"I'd say your instincts aren't that far off. Catch." Miranda summoned a biotic sphere in the palm of her free hand and, with a flick of her wrist, lobbed it at Shepard.

Shepard managed to gain control of the sphere just as it seemed it would sail over his shoulder. Suspending the orb between his two hands, he looked back over at Miranda. "Considering that they're your colleagues, you don't seem to have much faith in them."

"Oh, I have complete faith in their abilities to train you." Miranda held up her hand, motioning for Shepard to return the sphere. "But that doesn't mean that they're to be trusted." With the sphere back in her control, Miranda launched it again, this time sending it in an arc up into the air.

Shepard reached his hand upwards and brought the orb to him. "No?"

Miranda sighed and ran a hand through her hair. "Cerberus is an organization like any other, each member vying for power and attempting to win favor from authority no matter the cost. Your trainers are no exception."

_And you?_ Shepard wanted to ask, but decided not to. "Aren't you guys all working on the same project? What's the point of being at each other's throats all the time?"

"Its encouragement of unregulated competition is very much one of Cerberus' strengths; only the most ambitious and cunning men and women can succeed and ascend its ranks. As for your trainers…it's likely they're simply looking to supplant me as head of Project Endymion."

Shepard looked up suddenly, simultaneously letting the biotic sphere flicker out. "But they won't, right?"

Miranda, whose right arm was now along the top of the couch, leaned her head into her hand. "Of course not. I won't let them."

Shepard couldn't help but get excited. He wanted to believe that she was really saying was that she wouldn't let them _take him_. He, after all, _was_ Endymion, wasn't he?

But he couldn't be sure. Did Miranda even want him there? Or was she just after power and he a convenient stepping-stone to reach it? Shepard never knew where he stood with Miranda. He didn't know what he was to her, if anything.

She was now looking out the vista, her eyes distant, her forefinger against her temple and her thumb under her chin. When she continued, it seemed she was talking more to herself than to Shepard. "They think I'm young, inexperienced. They're not the first to make that assumption," Shepard saw Miranda's eyes glimmer wickedly, "and they won't be the last to suffer for it. If they try anything, that is."

After a brief lull, Miranda stood up. "I have something for you."

_A kiss_? Shepard thought, but didn't say, making him increasingly grateful for whatever semblance of a mental filter he had. "A blue shirt?"

Miranda dismissed the comment, a subtle jab at Shepard's Cerberus colors dominated wardrobe. She went to her bag and took out a series of datapads. She brought them back with her and fanned them out across the table in front of Shepard. She waved her omnitool over them and they all flickered to life.

Shepard looked down at the looping video clips and scrolling information. "These are…?"

"Dossiers. Information on all the humans at your high school you should befriend. Each here is somehow connected to a powerful relative: political representatives, government employees, corporate suits, Alliance military assets."

Shepard picked up one dossier that had a slim, blonde and pale-skinned girl with light blue eyes and a long braid displayed on its front.

"Melanie Simmons, daughter of Terra Firma party leader Inez Simmons. You should consider making her your girlfriend." Miranda sat back, totally unfazed by what she had just said.

The same could hardly be said for Shepard. He was hurt that Miranda was telling him to make Simmons his girlfriend. He was even more hurt by the fact that she didn't seem to care.

"It seems a little cruel, doesn't it? Toying with someone like that."

"You're honorable, John. And I can respect that. But you're also naïve."

Shepard put down the dossier and looked up at Miranda. "I've lived honestly my whole life."

"And where has it led you? You lost everything. There's obviously no cosmic reciprocation of goodwill. You have to take what it is you want."

"But do I have to lie for it?"

"This is the real world, John. Everybody lies. Don't be stupid and feel compelled to tell the truth for whatever abstract, moralistic ideals you may have."

Shepard sat back into the couch. "For someone who believes in promoting humanity, you sure don't believe in the goodness of human nature."

"John, I don't believe _any_ species is innately good. Authority is what keeps the common man in check. There's a reason, for example, why looting is proven to break out weeks after a government is toppled. That human nature is, by default, hardly virtuous is an inevitability. Not preparing for it almost always incurs dire consequences."

Leaning his head backwards, Shepard stared at the skylight. "I'm not saying you're wrong. If anything, seeing the way biotics are persecuted by the population at large…killed even. I know better." Shepard picked up his head and looked straight into Miranda's eyes. "I'm not just another small colony romanticist."

Miranda smirked and laced her fingers together in her lap. "So you'll do it?"

Shepard sighed. "I guess. I don't know how competent I'll be at it though. I mean, it's not like I've had any training yet or anything."

"Well, look at it this way, John. You seem like a nice guy. Sweet, innocent, just shipped over from Mindoir after the devastating loss of your family. And cute-ish. So play the cards you have. I'm sure teenage girls are just dying to eat that up."

At Miranda's mentioning of Mindoir, Shepard couldn't help but think of his parents and of Izzy. Izzy, his little sister…

'…_she may not seem the type, but you should consider talking to Miri about this.'_

"You have any siblings, Miranda?" Shepard saw Miranda's pupils dilate and her body tense.

Miranda's thoughts had jumped back to the time when she had stumbled into her father's lab as a child. Cold and dark, there had been dozens of illuminated floor to ceiling glass tubes and thousands of DNA samples. She had no doubt Oriana was her sister…but were they?

"I…no."

Shepard knew he should've just let it go, but he couldn't. He clenched his hand into a fist at his side and spoke to Miranda in a cold voice. "That was a bad lie, Miranda."

Miranda's eyes flicked up to Shepard's warily.

"Niket said otherwise," Shepard said, his gaze unwavering.

"Sorry?" Miranda's voice wasn't inquisitive, but threatening. Between her and Shepard, the air in the room had turned to ice and the apartment itself seemed afraid to move.

Shepard refused to be intimidated. "Niket," he said more loudly than necessary. "He said you had a younger sister. And that she was kidnapped."

Miranda made a mental note to have a 'talk' with Niket.

The ice never leaving her voice, Miranda replied, "That's none of your goddamned business, Shepard. Stay out of my personal life." Miranda rose and left the table.

Shepard, his hands still clenched, watched her walk a few paces before he stood up.

"Stay out of your personal life?" he yelled. He wanted to be as controlled as Miranda was, but he couldn't. He was angry. Her secrets he could accept. Her lies he couldn't.

"Can't you see that _this_ is _my_ personal life?" Shepard brought his hand to his forehead and squeezed it in frustration. "Why are you so afraid? Why do you have to keep pulling away?"

Shepard's voice softened. "I thought we were friends."

Miranda, whose back had been turned to Shepard for the duration of his tirade, turned on her heel and stared at him icily. "John, I've known you for all of three days. I'd hardly call us friends."

Shepard could feel his anger quickly rising. "Then who _is_ your friend? Niket? You won't even tell him you're goddamned Cerberus! Face it, Miranda. There's only one person in this world you can be completely honest with, and he's standing right in front of you."

His mention of Niket finally broke Miranda's icy exterior and when she spoke next it was with real emotion. Real hatred, that is.

"Get over yourself, John. You're a project. Contrary to what you might think, we're not friends. And we're certainly not lovers. Nor will we ever be." Miranda, seeing Shepard hurt, twisted her lips into a smile and continued.

"You think I can't tell? You wear all of your emotions on your face, John. And quite frankly, this obsessive puppy dog love of yours? It's pathetic."

Shepard was completely silent. He felt like his heart had been shattered and he knew he wouldn't be able to talk without his voice breaking. But the last thing he wanted to do right now was appear weak in front of Miranda and give her the satisfaction of knowing just how much her words had gotten to him.

The two stood in silence for a long while before Miranda scoffed and turned to go to her room. Shepard waited until she was out of sight to take a breath, what felt like the first one in ages. He bent down, could feel the pressure building behind his eyes, the headache tearing apart his forehead, his heavy, uncontrolled breathing, the feeling of sickness sitting like a knot at the bottom of his stomach. Knowing that Miranda could still hear him, he stood up and violently pushed away everything that stood in his way as he made his way to the door to the balcony.

Stepping outside to the millions of lights and thousands of aliens speeding through the night in their cars, Shepard squeezed his eyes shut and screamed his throat raw.


	13. After Anger, Regret

Disclaimer: Mass Effect and all its characters belong to Bioware.

* * *

><p><strong>Hellhound<strong>

Miranda Lawson didn't sleep that night. It certainly hadn't been the first time (studies, Cerberus assignments, and her own genetic tailoring which demanded little, if any, sleep, had made sure of that), and it certainly wouldn't be the last. But it was one of the few times, the last being in the weeks following her escape from her father's autocracy, that she could remember it making her so incredibly tired.

She had certainly tried to sleep, but her racing thoughts had refused her all respite. Thoughts of what? Miranda, who was lying idly on her bed, sighed and burrowed her face deeper into her pillow.

Of failure.

Once she had settled down after her confrontation with Shepard, she had begun to hear the Illusive Man's voice replay ceaselessly in her mind. Quietly at first, then louder and louder as she realized just how badly she had screwed up.

She was supposed to control him. To steal his trust with empty promises; to lure him in with seductive eyes and trap him with a silver tongue. She was supposed to tell him whatever he wanted to hear, all the while mixing in sweet nothings of the grandeur of Cerberus.

Yet somewhere along the line, something had gone terribly wrong. Instead of manipulate the feelings Miranda could tell Shepard obviously had for her, she had ignored them. And last night, she had crushed them.

Why she hadn't just continued to lead Shepard on, Miranda didn't know. In her two years with Cerberus, Miranda had played dozens of assets; she would use them, abuse them, and still be able to go home and sleep soundly.

Yet here she lay.

A loud ping came from her terminal, causing Miranda to groan and roll onto her back. She squinted under the bright light of Illium's sun, which was shining through the open skylight. Unable to deny that time, as much as she wanted to reverse it, was still thoughtlessly marching forward, she finally resigned herself and rose from bed.

She ran a slender hand through her hair and walked over to her terminal to read the message she had received; her face was unreadable as her eyes rested on the heading of the most recent addition to her inbox.

_FROM: Alliance Mortuary Affairs_

* * *

><p>Shepard opened his eyes and looked around him. Everything was dark.<p>

_Where am I?_

He shifted slightly and heard the crinkling of sheets and, as his eyes adjusted to the near pitch-black of the inside of the room, could start making out the outlines of various pieces of furniture.

_Ahh, right._ Shepard vaguely remembered coming back in and locking himself in his room the night before, his hands freezing and his throat burning. He thought back to when he had been driving back from the spaceport with Miranda, and her mentioning how Illium's towers were built so people could avoid the planet's uncomfortably hot surface and how, once you got high enough, the switch to nighttime would lead to a massive temperature drop.

Shepard, sensing even more thoughts of Miranda Lawson creeping up on him, stubbornly pushed them away. _No, not yet_. If just for a little longer, he wanted to suspend reality. He had spent the entire night awake, though at times he would slip into a dream like state where Izzy, wearing a muddied white nightgown, would climb into his bed and stare at him, and all the sudden he would feel guilty for even thinking he might love Miranda. Shepard shook his head, chasing away the image.

Over the last few hours, he had replayed everything that had happened since he had agreed to come with Miranda to Illium in his head and, somewhere in between remembering the first time he saw her on Mindoir and realizing where he was now, he had figured out what he would say to her. He didn't presume he could fix things but, at the very least, he might be able to keep them from becoming worse.

Shepard sighed. He dreaded the thought of leaving his room (ironic, as he had been so resistant to sleeping in it initially) and talking to Miranda. Would she be angry? Cold? Indifferent? Shepard couldn't decide which was worse.

He took a deep breath and sat up in his bed. Whichever it was, simply lying there wouldn't make it better. Besides, growing up as he did, he hated the feeling of getting up late.

"Lights."

Shepard pulled back the covers, got out of bed, and, now that the room was illuminated by the artificial sunrise displayed on the walls, proceeded to stretch his arms, neck, and back. When he was done, he walked to his dresser and replaced the clothes he had fallen asleep in the night before with a clean T-shirt and jeans. He moved for the door and reached out his hand to trigger the console. The door opened.

"Miranda?" Shepard's voice was hoarse as he spoke her name in surprise; she was standing just outside his doorway and her eyes had widened ever so slightly.

"Sh…John." Miranda had expected Shepard to be angry. Instead he just looked…resigned? Drained, that much was obvious, but then there was something else…

Miranda cleared her throat. "John, there's something I need to tell—"

"Wait." Shepard started rubbing the back of his neck and looked away from Miranda to the floor between his feet. "I should…I have to tell you something first."

Miranda tilted her head to the side, trying to catch Shepard's gaze. He finally looked back up and, seeing that she was waiting for him to continue, started to speak. "Can we sit first? Here." Shepard stepped back into his room, making enough space to allow Miranda to walk past him and sit at the foot of his bed. Shepard sat down next to her.

"I don't really know how to start." Miranda noticed that Shepard wasn't looking at her; instead he was staring straight ahead at the wall. He shrugged and leaned forward, his forearms on his knees, his head tilted downward. Miranda watched as he massaged the skin on the back of his neck around his implant.

"The beginning I guess." Shepard turned his head to the side just enough that he could see Miranda from the corner of his eye.

"You know, when I first woke up in that Alliance tent, I know I was confused but…on some level, I think, I already knew what had happened. To my parents. And to Izzy. And the knowing, it was like…" Shepard clenched his hand into a fist and held it against his stomach, "this weight. Like this crushing despair. It was paralyzing."

Shepard squinted his eyes and stared down at the floor. "And the longer I sat there and the more I realized that everything around me was _real_, the more the weights just kept building up. I was angry and tired and regretful. I felt so helpless. So afraid. And in the middle of all that emotion and chaos you came. You just walked back into my life like those two years had never happened." Shepard let out a breath and relaxed his hand.

"And God you were _so_ beautiful. And I thought…" Shepard laughed and brought his hands to his face. "And I thought 'this is what all the vids must be about, right?' My heart was pounding like crazy and I didn't think it was the fear or anything like that. I thought it was you. I thought 'this is what love must feel like.'"

Shepard took another deep breath. "And I know that's crazy. But then there were all these little things. Like when you held my hand when we went back to my house. Or when you didn't pull away right away when we were at Zarnow's. I just…I kept feeling like I always saw you smiling, at least a little bit."

Shepard's hand was running against what little hair he had – Miranda could see it had already started to grow back.

"And I interpreted it all the wrong way. But I get it now, you know? I get that it was just because you were always with me; that you were this anchor that I just latched onto in all the chaos."

Shepard brought down his hands and opened his eyes and spoke with a firmer voice – the type of firm that sounded just forced enough that Miranda wondered if maybe it wasn't just her Shepard was trying to convince. "I tried to use you to get past Mindoir. To fill in that void. And I shouldn't have. I see now that's something I have to do on my own."

Miranda sat silently beside Shepard, not wanting to interrupt him. While he paused, she thought about what he had said. That she was his anchor.

_An anchor?_ That was something she could understand. That's what Niket had been to her – an anchor. He kept her tied to her humanity those times when all she felt was bitter and spiteful. He kept her tied to her past. Her relationship with Niket was the only functioning relationship she had in this galaxy, and when Shepard had attacked it, it had made her, as she saw it, stupidly emotional. If what she had with Niket was built on lies, if it wasn't really a relationship at all, then who did she have left?

"Niket…" Miranda looked over to Shepard, caught off guard by his mentioning the one person she had just been thinking of. "He said it was all a defensive mechanism. And I thought 'well, if I can just get past it, what then?' I thought we'd spend all this time together and that little by little those defenses would come down. As for what was left…." Shepard shook his head and gave another small laugh.

"Honestly, I didn't really think about that. I guess I just had some absurd, romantic idea that once I managed to do that you'd just fall in love with me. And then there'd be the happily ever after."

_What _was_ left?_ Miranda thought to herself. Was there anything at all? Just the anger, she guessed, she could never let go of after she left her father. The solitude she had forced herself to accept that she wanted, that was good for her, and that was her only option in the entire galaxy.

"It was stupid and juvenile and I realize that now. I'm an ass for putting you in the position I did yesterday and I apologize." Shepard looked up at Miranda, the first time he had done so since he had begun his story. It wasn't long though before he turned to look back at the floor.

Shepard cleared his throat, and it was painful. It had already been sore enough from the previous night's events and his talking almost without stop didn't help.

"Yesterday…or really this morning, I guess, what you said…as much as it hurt me-" Shepard glanced up quickly at Miranda. "I don't expect an apology. You shouldn't have to apologize for telling the truth."

He turned away again. "As much as it hurt, what hurt the most was the idea that you hated me or were disgusted by me or just wanted nothing to do with me.

"For a long time, I thought just about being angry. But I don't want to be a kid like that anymore. I want to be someone that _deserves_ to be your friend and someone that you _want_ to be friends with." Shepard finally picked himself up, turned to Miranda, and smiled crookedly. "Or amiable acquaintances, if friends is too much to ask for."

Shepard looked at Miranda who seemed to be staring down at her hands, which she held in her lap.

He swallowed. "If you could say something…that'd be really great." Shepard looked away nervously and an embarrassed flush crept across his face. "I already feel like a sentimental fool just pouring my heart out to you like this."

Miranda looked at Shepard's hunched form. Why was it so hard for her to just say 'yes'?

He was so open, so fragile. Miranda couldn't help but think that her friendship would corrupt him. Hadn't it, to some miniscule degree, already? If she said yes, Miranda felt like she would just be taking responsibility, one that she didn't want.

Shepard had laid out so many of his vulnerabilities, and it made Miranda angry. Why did he trust her like this? Why didn't he understand that the next time they fought, she would just exploit that knowledge and sink her daggers so deep he wouldn't be able to recover?

Shepard was watching Miranda, waiting in silence for her reply. The seconds stretched on and his heartbeats seemed to slow, each growing more painful than the last.

Miranda could see the worry growing on Shepard's face. He was risking being hurt, but would she risk hurting him?

When it came to real, personal relationships Miranda Lawson risked remarkably little and, save for Niket (or including Niket, depending on how one decides to look at it) she reaped just as little emotional benefit.

_If I'm going to take that risk_, Miranda thought to herself, _wouldn't it be better to so in a relationship where, if it backfired, I'm not the one walking away hurt?_

Miranda relaxed. That line of thinking was more like the self she knew.

"I would like that, John." Shepard let out a long overdue breath and gave Miranda a relieved smile.

Miranda gave a small smile in return before, finally remembering why it is she had come to his door in the first place, it quickly turned to a frown.

"Miranda? What is it?"

"Before, I said there was something I had to talk to you about."

"Yeah?"

Miranda hesitated before responding. "It's your parents, John. The Alliance has finished their preliminary investigation on Mindoir and their bodies have been released."

Her words gradually sinking in, Miranda watched as Shepard's normally lucid eyes became cloudy. Pained.

Miranda's voice was soft, almost a whisper, when she continued. "They've asked that you, as the closest surviving family member, return to collect them."

* * *

><p>AN: So I've been pretty sparse on the author's notes so as to not ruin you guys' reading of Hellhound. Now I don't like _pandering_ for reviews, but (psst!) I do like reviews XD.


	14. Return to Mindoir

Disclaimer: Mass Effect and all its characters belong to Bioware.

**Hellhound**

"Ready?"

Miranda looked over to Shepard, her eyes drawn to his own, which caught and reflected what little light had made its way into the otherwise dim interior of the skycar.

Shepard picked his head up. Miranda's face was the only thing he could see. It was the only thing he _had_ seen since this entire process had started.

Everything else was a blur. He couldn't even say how long it had been since she had shown him the Alliance's message. Had it been hours? Or maybe even days? Perfunctory and filled with false emotion, the message had requested he come to Mindoir to deal with his parent's bodies. To collect them. _Like they're not even people._

"John." Miranda, sitting on the seat opposite Shepard's with her knees facing his own, leaned forward.

This wasn't Miranda's car. In fact, Shepard didn't even recognize it. Neither did he care.

"Coming." His voice was muted, almost hollow.

Miranda nodded and opened the car door. It lifted upwards with a blaring hiss (or at least that's what Shepard heard; in reality, it was hardly audible) and suddenly the Mindoir sun was beating down on Miranda's face.

She stepped out and waited for her eyes to adjust to the change in lighting before she looked back at Shepard.

Dressed in a shirt and tie, he remained in the car's shadowy interior. Sitting perfectly still and his expression brooding, the Shepard Miranda saw now wasn't the guileless and unassuming Shepard she had become used to.

Miranda was about to call out to Shepard again when he, giving no advance indication, slid across the seat and joined her outside the car.

He finally looked around him; it was November and the first frost had come, settling across his hometown like a grey dust. The crops had fully matured but remained, for obvious reasons, largely unharvested.

They were standing on the main road and, looking to his right, Shepard could see the small winding path that would stretch past his old house and to his family burial plot.

Shepard closed the car door and saw his reflection in its tinted window.

"Let's take a detour."

Miranda, who like Shepard was dressed completely in black, could see his expression in the glass though he was faced away from her. She nodded.

Shepard turned and started walking slowly down the road, away from the winding path. Miranda, unsure where he was leading her, kept a few paces behind him.

They arrived shortly at a bend in the road, on one side of which was a wooded area. They entered and the deeper they went the more Miranda, who kept looking behind her in a vain attempt to keep track of where they where, noticed the trees grow closer together and the opening in the tree line where they had entered become farther away, eventually disappearing altogether.

The two of them weaved through the forest, neither stopping to take a breath despite the increasingly steep incline. There was almost a deathly silence, the only noise being the sound of their breathing.

Shepard kept the same listless pace and never looked back once.

Just as Miranda was beginning to wonder how much farther Shepard's detour would take them, he came to a halt. A rocky outcrop, not more than a dozen feet high, stood before them. Miranda watched Shepard's eyes scan the wall and his fingertips dragged across the uneven surface.

He finally found what he was looking for – a small pocket in the jagged rock large enough to fit a hand in. Wherever this was, he had obviously been here before.

Shepard wiped away the snow and pulled himself up; the rest of his limbs seemed to know where to reach automatically. Once he had managed to get both hands to the top ridge, it was easy enough for him to bring up his entire body and twist around so he faced Miranda, his legs dangling over the edge.

He looked down at her through the forest brush. "What's the hold up?"

"I'm in heels, John. I thought I was going to a funeral, not rock climbing."

Shepard gave her an amused look though his voice still lacked its usual energy. "Well take 'em off and I'll help you up."

Miranda glared up at him but he just kept half smiling and dangling his legs. She finally gave in and started pulling off her heels.

Back on top of the outcrop, Shepard reoriented himself so that he lay flat on his stomach, the cold stone sending chills throughout his body. He peeked over the edge and saw Miranda waiting, one hand on her hip and the other holding her shoes.

"Toss em up." Miranda did and Shepard caught them easily. He placed them beside him then reached one hand down for Miranda.

Miranda raised her arm and felt Shepard's strong grip form around her wrist. She did the same and started ascending the wall. Once she was close enough to pull herself up, Shepard rolled out of the way onto his back and this time it was Miranda who sat dangling her legs over the edge.

Shepard closed his eyes as he caught his breath.

"So? Why'd we come up here?"

"Mmm…" Shepard stared up into Mindoir's cloudless sky. "Guess I just felt like I'd never get another chance to. Not for a while at least. Plus…"

Shepard picked himself up, held out his hand to Miranda, and pulled her forward to the opposite edge of the outcrop.

"…it comes with a view."

Shepard let go of Miranda and made his way to the very edge until the balls of his feet were suspended in midair.

He looked out on the horizon, where the golden tipped fields met the cold autumn sky. To his right and dozens of feet below, he could see his family's property and the snaking path that connected it to his and Miranda's ultimate destination.

A light breeze blew across the fields and Shepard watched the stalks tilt in waves. He felt his body tingle as his fragile balance was nearly compromised.

He looked back at Miranda and beckoned her forward. She hung back warily.

"C'mon Lawson. Get up here already." Shepard smiled and held out his hand. Miranda held his gaze for a long while before she finally sighed and gave him a look that said something along the lines of '_I can't believe I'm even doing this_.'

Holding his hand in her left, she walked up to the edge and looked out around her.

"Everything you can see right now, from the main road to those hills there, it all belonged to my parents." Miranda looked over to him as he spoke.

"And now it's yours."

Shepard glanced up at her briefly before his gaze returned to the fields. "I guess so."

"What will you do with it?"

"Keep it." Shepard leaned his head back and closed his eyes. "Start the farm back up, rebuild the house…I think mostly I just like knowing I have something to come back to."

Miranda looked down at the ashen remains of Shepard's once home. It may not have been much, but it was something. She almost wished she had that – a home she could return to.

"We should start heading back soon."

Shepard opened his eyes and pointed in front of him. "That clearing there? That's actually where we're headed." _Wouldn't be that far if it wasn't for this drop._

As if she could tell what Shepard was thinking, Miranda said:

"We could always jump."

Shepard looked at Miranda in surprise and then back over the ledge. "You're crazy. What would we even land on?"

"I think you're forgetting, John, that we're not normal humans," she said, letting her biotics flare.

Shepard raised his eyebrows in disbelief. Cold, calculating Miranda Lawson was about to recklessly jump off a cliff side? What was the world coming to?

"So? Do you trust me?"

"Of course I do," Shepard replied without hesitation.

Miranda had no idea where this rash confidence was coming from. In fact, she wasn't actually entirely sure she could make it. In all the years she had spent developing her biotics, she had never landed a jump that steep. Especially while carrying two people.

Yet something about being here with Shepard was liberating. With him, she felt free to act like the kid she had never had the chance to be growing up.

"Let's do it," Shepard finally said, taking a deep breath.

"Let's."

"So how's this gonna work? Are we just gonna jump here or do a running start kind of-"

Shepard, his eyes glued to the hundred-foot drop as he spoke, didn't catch Miranda's devious smirk just before she launched them of the edge. Shepard yelped out in surprise as he went over, causing Miranda to burst out laughing.

"Not….funny….Miranda!" Shepard managed to yell over the whistling wind; Miranda, conserving her biotic power, was doing nothing to restrain their current free fall.

"Oh, but I have to disagree! Who knew John Shepard screamed like a girl!"

Miranda looked down and saw that they were almost halfway to the ground. She activated her biotics, gradually increasing her power output as she slowed their descent.

But, as she had expected but had chosen to ignore, trying to slow two adult size humans falling from a hundred feet placed a sizeable and dangerous strain on her biotics.

She broke out sweating and could feel pain begin shooting from her L2 implant. She instinctively reached for the back of her head, effectively letting Shepard go.

She blinked her eyes, trying to chase away the dizziness that was quickly overcoming her, and saw Shepard falling away from her towards the ground. Within seconds, she heard a loud _thump._

"John!"

A shot of adrenaline burst through Miranda, enough that she ignored the pain and managed to land safely. Once on the ground, she looked around for Shepard, but she couldn't even tell where she was – all around her were rows and rows of corn stalks that reached well over her head. "John, where are you?"

Nothing.

Again ignoring the pain of her L2, Miranda let loose a massive biotic wave that bent over dozens of stalks.

_There_! Miranda sprinted towards a black lump that had been revealed. As she came closer, she realized it wasn't Shepard, but the black wool coat he had been sporting. She squatted down and clenched the fabric in her hand, and was about to let out another wave when she heard a faint sound.

Was that…chuckling?

Miranda turned around and hastily walked a few paces before, sure enough, she found Shepard flat against his back, now laughing.

She threw the coat into his face, but he only laughed harder. "I swear to God, John, if you're laughing at _me…_"

Shepard pulled the coat off his face and looked at her, his hands held in surrender. "I swear I'm not!"

Miranda sat down next to him and held her hand against the back of her neck. "Then might I ask what's so funny?"

"It's just…these last few days have been so…you know? I'm only laughing out of relief, I swear."

Miranda sighed. "Well are you ok?"

Shepard sat up slowly. "Seems like I'm in one piece. Probably gonna have one helluva bruise tomorrow though."

"Let me see." Miranda started reaching for Shepard's shirt.

"Whoa!" Shepard scooted away and wrapped his arms around himself.

"What?"

"I think it's time we established some boundaries is all."

"Right. Well, that's not going to happen." Miranda reached out again but Shepard scooted back even further. "I don't see what the problem is, we've been through this before."

"And look where that got us." Shepard shrugged. "Look, I trusted you up there so all I want is for you to trust me now. _I'm fine_."

Shepard could see Miranda bite her tongue as she fought to hold back.

"_Fine_. I'll have Zarnow conduct a physical soon enough anyways."

"Fine with me."

"Fine." Miranda cut off Shepard before he could reply again. "Look, we really should get going."

Shepard nodded and stood up, brushing the dirt from his clothes. He leaned down to pick up his coat then followed after Miranda.

"I should probably be in front."

Miranda turned around as though to start another fight but Shepard gave her a look and she, well aware she had almost no idea where they were, slowed down and let him pass her.

Shepard led them through the rows of corn towards his family plot. The last time he had been here…Shepard was briefly filled with terror as he remembered the night he had lost Izzy.

"John?" Shepard looked away from the empty rows in front of him and back at Miranda. That was right. He didn't have to be afraid.

She was with him now.

"John, you're sweating."

"It's nothing."

"It's obviously not-"

"Like I said, _I'm fine._ I'd be more worried about you. How's your implant?"

"How did you…?"

"I saw you grab at it when you…well, dropped me."

Miranda glared at Shepard as though he had just made a personal attack.

"I wasn't—"

"No, I know." Miranda sighed. "I may have overestimated my limits is all. And, add to the fact that L2s aren't generally known for their fun side effects…"

"L2? Why not the L3?"

"The L3s just came out this year and you know what the procedure's like." Miranda nodded forward and the two of them began walking again.

"I thought Cerberus never botched retrofits."

"They don't, but getting retrofitted can still leave you incapacitated for weeks, biotically and physically. I just haven't had that kind of time."

"It only took me a day to start using my biotics after my surgery, though." Shepard looked back at Miranda as they kept walking through the field.

"First of all, that in itself was highly irregular. Recovery periods normally range from a couple days to a couple weeks, but rarely do they end as quickly as yours. Second of all, a retrofit is a completely different surgery."

Shepard grimaced at the thought of having his implant, still tender at times, be ripped from his flesh and replaced.

"We should be almost…" The two finally emerged from the field to a clearing that, like the main road, was covered in a fickle frost.

Shepard slowed to a halt while Miranda came up beside him. Not far off in the distance was a small, rather plain cemetery.

Miranda looked up at Shepard and noticed that his face had again become solemn, as if crossing the threshold between the field and the clearing had released the terrible emotional weight their detour had briefly managed to relieve.

Yet it seemed as though that had been enough to allow Shepard to regain what strength he needed to continue on. He took a slow breath, stepped forward once, then twice; each small movement seemed to be a struggle against some infinite and invisible force.

Miranda locked her arm in Shepard's and waited for him to look away from the cemetery and back at her. He did and together they started to make their way across the clearing.

As Miranda guided him, Shepard looked at her and only her. Suddenly his body didn't seem quite so heavy and suddenly he didn't have to fight so hard against the side of himself that screamed for him to turn around because it believed if he never saw their bodies lowered into the ground then they'd never really be dead.

When Miranda finally slipped her arm away from his, Shepard found himself standing besides his parents' grave. It was still empty; their caskets had yet to be brought out.

Miranda reached up and squeezed Shepard's shoulder, motioning to the cemetery gates through which a small group of Alliance soldiers were carrying two simple wooden caskets; the Alliance had never recovered Izzy's body.

Shepard watched as the caskets came closer, their procession relentless even as time seemed to slow. The soldiers finally reached Shepard and Miranda and laid the caskets down on the straps that, when loosened, would lower Shepard's parents to their final resting place. They nodded awkwardly and left from the same place they had come from.

"It's just us?" Miranda almost didn't register Shepard's low monotone as a question.

"After what happened…" Miranda referred to when she and Shepard had gone to the morgue and how he, seething with rage after he found out the Alliance coroner had lost his father's personal effects, had barely kept himself from outright attacking the man. "I assumed you wouldn't want them to stay."

"I didn't."

Shepard picked up his hand and rested it atop the casket's grainy surface. Miranda continued to stand beside him and for a long time the two were silent. Miranda wanted to say something to comfort him, but couldn't think of anything that didn't sound trite or artificial. Instead she said:

"You should say something."

"I'm not…I would only…" At a loss for words, Shepard shook his head slightly. "I'm not exactly eloquent."

"It's just you and me here, John. No one else."

Shepard squinted and looked at Miranda then back to the ground in front of the casket. "I know I had this…perfect childhood. Like some Norman Rockwell fantasy. My parents gave me everything I ever needed. They never raised their hand against me. They never gave me a punishment I didn't deserve. They were fair and just and our life was simple and happy."

As Shepard continued, his voice was so soft Miranda wouldn't have been able to hear it had she not been standing beside him.

"But they weren't perfect. They were scared like everyone else. Of letting me use biotics. Sometimes after I let something slip, they'd look at me like…" Shepard closed his eyes as the memories flooded back. "Like they didn't even know who I was. Like I wasn't their son."

Shepard opened his eyes and looked at Miranda. "Not much of a eulogizer, am I?"

Miranda reached up with her hand and rested it against Shepard's jaw. She rubbed her thumb back and forth and could feel his slight stubble.

"Not everyone's perfect, not even those closest to us. At least you're not too blind or too afraid to see it."

A moment passed where Shepard simply let himself be engulfed in Miranda's softened gaze.

"I must be when I'm with you."

Miranda let her hand fall to Shepard's shoulder, then pulled it back to her side. "I'm not perfect, John. I was designed to be, but I'm not."

Shepard didn't move, but just continued to watch her silently.

"My father was extremely wealthy. He wanted the ideal daughter and he paid a great deal to genetically tailor me. When I finally learned that he was more interested in controlling a dynasty than raising a daughter, I left."

Shepard could already feel dozens of questions bubbling up inside him, but somehow felt that he had to wait for her to tell him first, when she was ready.

"I didn't leave alone, John."

"Oriana," Shepard said softly.

"Yes. Niket believes she was kidnapped, but she wasn't. I saved her, John. From everything my father would have put her through."

"What you did wasn't wrong Miranda. I don't doubt that." Miranda nodded and took a slow breath.

"Where is she now?"

"Safe. Living a normal life away from my father."

"And away from you."

"That's how it has to be, John," she said protectively. "My father may have given up coming after me, but not Oriana. All I want is for her to be safe and be normal. She can't have either of those with me in her life."

"I don't believe that. I know you, Miranda. I know you could be with Oriana and not jeopardize her safety."

"John, I—"

"Look, all I know is that Izzy meant everything to me. She still does. And there's nothing in the world that can replace that relationship. Maybe you think a normal life is what's best for her, but she'll never be as happy as she could be if she at least knew she had you. And it's not just Oriana who'd be losing something.

"I won't force you to do anything you don't want to, Miranda. I'm just asking you to think about it, as your friend."

Miranda's eyes became distant, as if she was imagining a different future and its many thousands of possibilities.

"Ok." Miranda's voice cracked slightly as she replied.

Shepard felt a surge of emotion towards the woman whose voice had faltered, however briefly. He looked down at her hand, which was hanging by her side, and after a short moment of hesitation, reached over and held it in his own.

He looked up at Miranda, half expecting she would pull away but half hoping she wouldn't. Miranda, her eyes no longer distant, looked at Shepard with an unreadable expression and then back down at their clasped hands.

Shepard felt her move her hand and closed his eyes. When he opened them again his hand wasn't empty, as he had expected. Instead, Miranda's fingers were tightly interlocked with his own. He picked up his head and tried to find Miranda's eyes, but she was faced away from him, looking directly at the casket.

Shepard felt a pressure build up in his chest and knew his heart was about to start racing. He crushed the feeling and looked away from Miranda and to the casket, now being lowered into the ground.

She was all he had, and he would do nothing to jeopardize that.

And that included acting on some childish delusion.


	15. One Year Later

Disclaimer: Mass Effect and all its characters belong to Bioware

**Hellhound**

_Illium, 2171_

4:17. Shepard squeezed his eyes shut and tried to force himself to go back to sleep. He knew it was pointless – this last year had been proof of that – but he did it anyway. He kept at it for fifteen or so minutes until he came to a frustrating conclusion: trying to sleep only made him more, not less, awake. This was actually worse than the last few months when closing his eyes, though it made him no sleepier, could at least suspend his level of fatigue those times when he woke up during morning's odd hours.

He sighed and looked down at the alabaster arm wrapped around his core. The first time he had woken up in this bed, he had been disgusted with himself. But by the dozenth, he just felt numb.

That, probably, was why he kept coming back.

Shepard slid the arm away and sat up. He rubbed his temples, sighed again, and looked at the figure behind him. Thick black hair, marble white skin, and just a few inches shorter then himself. She was almost perfect.

Trying to make as little noise as possible, Shepard stood up, walked around the bed, and stepped out onto the small balcony. He closed the door behind him and went and leaned forward on the metal railing. Everything he saw was dark, save for the lights of the sprawling city of Nos Astra on the horizon.

Shepard heard the screen door scrape open behind him and saw two naked white arms slide past his neck. Her head crept beside his and her lips lightly brushed the side of his neck.

"You smell good." Her voice reminded him of silk.

"I'm glad you approve." She turned her head trying to catch his eyes, but he just kept staring at the lights along the skyline.

"That's why I first gravitated towards you, you know."

"Because of the way I smelled?"

"Yeah. You smell earthy. Like sweat and soil. Not artificial like everyone else on Illium."

"Hmm…" Shepard ran his fingertips down her arm.

"So why'd you choose me?" she whispered into his ear. "I'm anything but like you. You who has all the girls and even some of the boys following you with their eyes all day long. You who seems so charming and bright and well rounded. At school, at least."

Shepard turned his head to the side and looked at her. "Because you're beautiful."

She gave a hushed laugh. "Because I look like _her_, you mean. I can tell. When you come here, you never seem to be really looking at _me_." She slid her hands across his chest and pressed her naked self against his back. "You touch my body," he could feel her hot breath in his ear, "but you don't touch me." Shepard was silent.

She tossed her hair back and laughed again. "That's fine though." Shepard noticed she wasn't whispering anymore. "We're all screwed up in different ways. You and me, we both just want to use each other. I'm bored, desperate for physical affection. And you, what are you John?" She tapped her finger playfully against her lips. "Lonely?" She kissed his neck. "Hollow?" Again. "Hiding?"

Shepard tensed slightly and the girl smiled. "No worries, John. We both are."

She laid her head against Shepard's back and the two of them stayed like that, silent, for a while.

"I like this," Shepard finally said. He felt her move and finally rest her chin between his neck and shoulder.

"Like what?"

"When we're close like this." Shepard turned around and looked at her. "No layers. No lies."

She stood on her toes and kissed him. "C'mon." Shepard let her take his hand and lead him back inside. They slipped back into bed and Shepard wrapped his arms around her, burying his head in her chest.

He inhaled and could smell the smoke clinging to her skin.

_That's not right,_ some part of him thought.

_Miranda doesn't smoke._

* * *

><p>A few hours later, Shepard was climbing onto his skyhog, ready to get back to Nos Astra. He swung one leg over the seat, sat down, grasped the handles and pressed a small button with his thumb. The skyhog made a small whirring noise as it brought the handles forward and down and the rear pedal backward and up, causing Shepard to rotate forward so that he was nearly horizontal. Once the process was done, the fiberglass ceiling came down and Shepard was in darkness. A few moments later, the glass became illuminated with various numbers and symbols and a filtered display of Shepard's environment.<p>

Shepard waited for the 'READY' signal to turn green before he twisted the handle and pushed back with his foot on the pedal. The skyhog hovered off the ground and seconds later a bright blue jet was fired from its rear thrusters as it swept up and through the air, heading in Nos Astra's direction.

* * *

><p>Shepard took a deep breath as he stepped into the elevator that went to his and Miranda's apartment. He had, shortly after their return to Mindoir, developed a ritual of emotionally preparing himself each morning before he greeted her. It helped him stay calm. In control.<p>

The doors opened.

"John?"

Shepard shrugged off his jacket and hung it up in the closet. He took off his shoes then biotically lifted himself up to the railing around Miranda's bedroom, hauled himself over, and plopped down on the bed beside her.

Miranda, who was sitting up in her bed and had been reading from a datapad when Shepard came in, looked over at Shepard as he laid down.

She could smell the cigarette smoke on his clothes.

Shepard had assured her that he found the habit repulsive, and Miranda believed him. That would mean he had been with someone else who did smoke, a demographic that did not include his Cerberus-approved girlfriend.

"I thought you said you were going out with Mel Simmons."

"Just said I was going out. Same as you." Shepard winced inwardly. That hadn't sounded resentful, had it?

He hadn't meant for it to be. It shouldn't have been. He had long since accepted that Miranda had relations with other people. For her, an adult woman, that was normal, expected.

He had accepted that and he had done the same. The girls he had dated he had liked well enough. With them he was always charming and chivalrous and respectful, with no one more so than Mel Simmons. She was sweet and warm and uncomplicated and their relationship had thus far progressed favorably – her parents had even taken to him kindly, much to Miranda's approval.

Shepard also regularly discussed his romantic exploits with Miranda (though she, her exploits not romantic but merely sexual, did not reciprocate – not that Shepard bemoaned the fact). All except his latest, for obvious reasons. Miranda, undoubtedly, would've been able to identify the girl easily, but she and Shepard had early on agreed that they would respect each other's privacy as long as they believed doing so wouldn't jeopardize their respective well being. Shepard had thus far chosen to believe that Miranda kept to this agreement.

Miranda nodded. "Fair enough." Shepard watched her return to her reading. He felt his heart beating steadily – no more skips or spikes in his heart rate. No more flushed face or cracked voice. Keeping his cool around Miranda was something that required constant effort, yet one that he had become well acclimated to in past months. Even the pain and betrayal he still felt when Miranda went out on dates had become dulled.

Shepard knew he could have avoided that pain by simply leaving. He could have easily moved in with his trainers – it certainly would have made maintaining their cover as his foster parents that much easier.

But he chose to stay. Though not for love. Shepard had long since decided that he did not love Miranda Lawson. Whatever he felt for her, he felt it only as her friend. _And even if I did love her…_

Shepard had once read that there was no one you couldn't fall for as long as you worked hard enough at it. _So shouldn't the opposite be true?_ Shouldn't he be able to fall out of love just the same?

_Not that I have to_, Shepard thought to himself. _Because I don't._

_I don't love Miranda Lawson._

"You should take a shower." Shepard, his musings interrupted, looked up at Miranda. He understood the implication. Every morning he would meet Mel at her house, and they'd take the skyrail to school. If he went like he was now, there would be questions, and those questions would inevitably lead to lies or if not, heartbreak.

"Probably." Shepard got up and started walking to the stairs.

"And John?"

"Yea, Miranda?" Shepard stopped and turned around.

"Don't forget I'll be picking you up from Zarnow's so we can go see Oriana after."

Shepard gave a small smile. "I won't."


	16. Per the Illusive Man's Orders

Disclaimer: Mass Effect and all its characters belong to Bioware.

A/N: Many thanks to SeventhLegend who called me out on quite a few structural holes in this chapter. As always R&R.

* * *

><p><strong>Hellhound<strong>

"Almost ready in there, John?" Shepard looked up to the ceiling at the speaker from which Dr. Zarnow's affected voice had come.

"More or less."

"Door's unlocked!" The intercom clicked off.

Shepard reached over to a small case beside him, took the last adhesive biotic output sensor, and placed it on his upper thigh. By now, he had run through the process so many times he could do it without looking, though the ones that went between his shoulder blades were still admittedly difficult to place.

He flared his biotics and watched the small circles light up brightly. All set.

Shepard rose from the bench and walked across the sterile, blinding white locker room to the door in the back. It opened automatically once he was close enough, and he stepped across the threshold and into a small room, illuminated only by a small red light built into the wall. Once his full weight had rested on the hexagonal metal plate on the floor, the light turned green, and a similarly shaped hole in the ceiling opened up. Shepard took a breath as the metal plate with him standing on it was lifted upwards.

The higher Shepard was lifted, the more of the familiar containment cell he could see. It itself had no ceiling, but its walls – taller than Shepard in height - pushed up against the edges of the metal plate and surrounded him.

The inner walls of the cell i.e. those facing Shepard directly, were lined with columns of slightly protruding discs the size of Shepard's palm. Once the plate beneath Shepard's feet locked into place, the discs lit up simultaneously and flashed twice.

"You know the drill, John! Strike the discs as they light up! Today's duration is 180 seconds. Target average force is 5400 newtons; target maximum force is 7200 newtons. Let's see if your lessons with Operative Czernovog have made you any faster, shall we? Ah, but do remember to watch the cooldown."

"Got it."

"Splendid!"

The discs on the walls of the cell lit up again, this time counting down, their changing numbers accompanied by the feminine voice of a VI.

"3…2…1…"

Shepard saw the first light come on from the corner of his left eye and, his biotics blazing, ripped his arm back violently in a backhanded slam.

* * *

><p>"Ms. Lawson! A pleasure to see you! I'm afraid I didn't know you'd be joining us today!"<p>

"Likewise, Doctor. I came to oversee the testing development personally."

"Of course, of course! You _are_ the project head after all."

Miranda looked through the glass and down into the containment cell where Shepard was. Her view obstructed by the cell's high walls and her own poor viewing angle, she glanced over to the nearby monitors.

"I see he finally managed to stop shorting his amp."

"Indeed! John seems to be getting a hold on that nasty habit of his of using extravagant amounts of biotic energy."

"I still wouldn't say these numbers are very encouraging."

"Well, Ms. Lawson, do keep in mind that the inherent power of his biotics is many times that of the average biotic. Between that and the relatively short time he's been with us, I find his current degree of control quite commendable! Though it in no way rivals your own."

Miranda looked back out the observation window. The walls of the cell had dropped back into the floor, leaving Shepard in the center of a much larger room, still hexagonal in shape, walls lined with slightly larger discs. There was a brief lull before the next countdown started.

Zarnow pressed down on the button for the intercom and leaned forward to speak into the microphone. "Another 90 seconds, John! Let's see if you can get that charge to break 9000 again, eh?"

Miranda folded her arms as she watched Shepard alternate charging across the room and sending off pulls, throws, and shockwaves.

"This is your last test for today, yes?"

Zarnow chuckled gleefully. "Not quite, Ms. Lawson."

Miranda looked over at the aged scientist. "How do you mean?"

"There's another test; a special request per the Illusive Man."

Miranda's pupils grew smaller as she zeroed in her gaze on Zarnow. "I wasn't aware of any such request."

"Well, now you are Ms. Lawson! And, better yet, you'll get to observe it first hand!"

Miranda, irritated that Zarnow had spoken to the Illusive Man without her knowledge, fell silent.

"Now, John?" Zarnow's voice rang throughout the room below. "We have one last test for you today. One I think you'll want to catch your breath for."

Shepard, sweating profusely, looked back up to where he knew the observation room was (the window was a two-way mirror). "I'm ready."

"Excellent!" Zarnow flipped a switch on a nearby console and Miranda saw a metal cage lower out of an opened hatch in the ceiling.

Then she heard a bestial roar.

_Was that a…?_ "Zarnow, he's not ready!"

"As I already mentioned, this was a personal request of the Illusive Man! I'm afraid my hands are tied!" Zarnow's eyes glimmered as he smiled wickedly.

"Damn it Zarnow, you'll get him killed!" Miranda reached back into the band of her pants for her gun.

Zarnow had anticipated her move though, and drew a pistol from within his lab coat, aiming it directly at her chest. "Ah, ah, ah Ms. Lawson."

"You can't kill me, Zarnow. You know that."

"Indeed. Which is why this gun is loaded with doxacurium sulfide darts, which I'm sure I don't have to explain to you."

"Not bad, Doctor. One dart will be enough to paralyze me instantly, thought it won't knock me unconscious."

"Effectively disabling your biotics, while still letting you enjoy the show. For which you're quite welcome."

"Forgive me if my gratitude is not quite forthcoming," Miranda replied with a venomous edge.

"Don't be so dramatic, Ms. Lawson. Such displays are most unbecoming of one such as you."

The two stood across from each other in an uneasy silence.

"You're jeopardizing everything we've accomplished this last year," Miranda said icily.

"You really _must_ stop underestimating Endymion. As our project leader, isn't it your responsibility to push him to his limits? That's all we're doing. The fact that you're resisting just tells me that you're not the Miranda Lawson I signed on to work with. The Miranda Lawson that—"

The two of them heard another roar and the sound of metal crashing to the ground.

"Looks like it's started."

* * *

><p>Shepard looked in front of him and couldn't believe what he saw. A seven-foot tall, thick skinned reptilian biped.<p>

A krogan.

Shepard had never seen one up close in real life. Or at least a live one; Andrei had made a point to bring a freshly killed krogan to one of their sessions to demonstrate the most efficient way to disable a krogan's critical redundant systems.

The krogan had managed to break out of its cage before it had been fully lowered to the ground and now stood growling in the middle of the room. It seemed to be taking in its environment, recovering from its disorienting fall.

Shepard backed away towards the wall and eyed the krogan silently. Just under seven feet, small hump, no armor. Shepard put him at about 1500 lbs.

The krogan finally spotted Shepard and charged. So did Shepard. His biotics flared a bright blue as he charged around the krogan to the other side of the room, then disappeared as he restarted his slow, calculating walk.

1500 lbs was about 6700 N. Add a 300 N margin in case the weight was off.

It roared again, ripped up a piece of the metal flooring, and launched it at Shepard. Shepard easily ducked out of the way.

_7000 huh?_ Shepard was already visualizing the pathways he would have to activate. _7000 is doable._

* * *

><p>"Why isn't it talking?" Miranda, ignoring Zarnow's still raised pistol, looked down to where Shepard was.<p>

"The krogan? We cut out its tongue!"

Miranda narrowed her eyes. "Another one of the Illusive Man's requests?"

"Quite right. The idea was that—"

"If it couldn't talk, John would see it as an animal instead of a person and be more willing to kill it. Particularly since he's never interacted with krogan before."

"As expected, Ms. Lawson, you are again correct!" Zarnow bowed his head forward slightly as he smiled. "Now you're not going to get sentimental on me, are you?"

"Hardly." Miranda watched Shepard easily duck out of the way of the krogan's projectile. She, personally, had no qualms when it came to killing krogan for training purposes. In fact, she had few qualms about killing them in general. Unintelligent, uncouth, and uncontrollable, Miranda saw few applications for krogan off the battlefield, which even then were limited. Yet she still felt a great deal of unease with the current situation, not all entirely related to Shepard's biotic ability.

"I'm glad. To be quite frank, were you properly fulfilling your role as project leader, such a crude act would have been avoided completely."

"Excuse me?" Miranda turned back to Zarnow and the barrel of his handgun.

"Don't tell me you've become so emotionally entangled with Endymion that you're blind to the project's shortcomings?" Miranda glared at the doctor icily.

Zarnow sighed, though Miranda could gather from his subsequent response that he was actually enjoying himself. "While I won't deny that you've done an admirable job of training John's biotics – though just how much of that growth can be attributed to his own talent I can't say – your performance has been less than impressive when it comes to having John adopt the 'Cerberus mentality,' so to speak."

Miranda was silent. This, of course, was a problem she was well aware of. Miranda knew, but had chosen to downplay, the fact that John Shepard wasn't following Cerberus – he was following her. While she knew he believed in what Cerberus strived to achieve (a heroic struggle for human advancement was a cause just about anyone on Earth could get behind), she doubted he believed in Cerberus' _means_ to achieve them. In fact, she doubted he was even fully aware of those means.

But, save the Illusive Man, did anyone know the full scale of Cerberus' projects or the methods the organization employed to reach their success? Cerberus operations were deliberately isolated from one another so that were one cell compromised, the others would remain unscathed. Even Zarnow, who was involved in multiple cells, knew nothing outside of Cerberus' biotic research branch.

"This exercise," Zarnow continued, pulling Miranda from her ruminations, "has our young Mr. Shepard concentrated on _how_, not _why_, to kill. But unless John is sure in both, Project Endymion can never succeed. You know why this project was created – to succeed where Teltin failed. Teltin created weapons, but not operatives. And while the information we have gathered, and continue to gather, from Pragia is invaluable, none of those biotics will ever be able to become the true hand of Cerberus. Shepard can."

Miranda was about to reply when, from the corner of her eye she saw a bright blue flame; it was the krogan, readying its biotics.

"What timing!" Miranda could see that Zarnow would have clapped his hands if not for the fact that he was still holding a pistol to her chest. "Now, Ms. Lawson, perhaps you'll be able to see what's really quite extraordinary about John Shepard!"

* * *

><p>Shepard felt the mass effect fields near the krogan start to ripple, could almost <em>see<em> the energy flowing through it. And though he had no idea how – he would leave the science to Zarnow and Miranda – he could tell where it was going. What EZNs it would pass through. What volumes it would manipulate.

Shepard saw the krogan's throw coming milliseconds before it even happened.

He waited until the biotic attack could no longer be cancelled or reversed before ducking away and charging straight at the krogan. He let himself go just past the massive alien and turned on the balls of his feet, skidding to a stop while flaring his biotics and reaching down to the floor with his hand.

Now positioned directly behind the krogan, Shepard planted his feet firmly against the ground and let loose as strong a biotic lift as he could muster. He watched the krogan rise first twenty, then forty feet up into the air. Waiting hardly a second longer, Shepard bent down and sprung upwards, using his biotics to rise above and then land on the krogan mid-air.

He felt the krogan begin to bend the mass effect fields surrounding them, but quickly reversed the attempt with his own overwhelming biotic power.

Simultaneously, his upper body was encapsulated in a stunning azure as he pulled his head backwards and then smashed it violently into the krogan's head plate, yielding a satisfying crunching sound.

The krogan writhed in agony, but its scream was cut short as Shepard charged again, this time slamming the one-ton alien into the hard metal floor. Shepard's heart was racing, his body pulsing with power – overall, a sensation he had no intention of letting go. He was thrilled with his biotic mastery and, at that moment, wanted nothing more than to crush the remaining life force of the thing in front of him. He drew his right arm backwards, a bright blue orb forming around his hand and prepared to deliver the finishing blow.

"John! That's enough!"

Shepard looked up savagely to the observation window that had just become illuminated, revealing Zarnow and Miranda.

While Shepard had been fighting the krogan, Zarnow had become so engrossed in his talk of never having seen someone read and control others' biotics, that it had been relatively easy for Miranda to grab his wrist, pull it out in front of her, and pry the gun from it's hand without seriously injuring either one of them. Zarnow, who unlike Miranda had never had any combat training, simply held up his hands in surrender and laughed.

When Miranda had looked back down at Shepard he had been grinning murderously and was covered in various orange and yellow liquids that had oozed from the krogan's wounds.

Had she created this?

"John!" Shepard blinked and stared down at the krogan he was straddling and then back to his hand. The blue orb flickered out and Shepard picked himself up and stepped away from the bruised and bloodied alien.

"Miranda?" Shepard looked back up at Miranda and then down to his hands and chest, as if he was suddenly lost.

Miranda sighed in relief. "You're done here for today, John. Get yourself cleaned up and then we'll leave."

As Shepard nodded slowly and made his way back to the platform that would bring him to the locker room, Miranda heard a cheerful voice come from behind her.

"Well, Ms. Lawson. I do hope this little mishap hasn't damaged our working relationship!"


	17. Find Your Control

Disclaimer: Mass Effect and all its characters belong to Bioware.

**Hellhound**

"Talk to me, John." Miranda briefly looked away from the skyway at Shepard. He was leaning against the window, his right hand covering his eyes.

"About what," he grumbled back. Miranda squeezed the steering wheel and returned her eyes to the road, to the speeding skycars, the hundred foot tall holo-ads, and the asari-engineered towers. At first glance, everything about Nos Astra's market district seemed so sleek, so pristine. But give it a closer look, and the city would reveal itself to be a twisted urban jungle like any other. Just as a smiling asari merchant's face cloaked a cutthroat, coldhearted capitalism that seemed inborn among Illium's natives, so did Nos Astra's shining towers cloak its intestinal rust and rot.

"About what the _hell_ just happened back there. About _who_ the hell that was." Miranda's voice wasn't icy but hot with anger. It was, as Shepard had learned months ago, a 'benefit' of their declared friendship. Or at least that's how Shepard had chosen to think of it. Miranda's increased emotional honesty was a good thing, even if it was often brutal and, as Shepard suspected, predominantly selective. The increase had been a marginal one to the point where, if Miranda Lawson could formerly be described as a riddle, wrapped in a mystery, inside an enigma, Shepard could say with confidence that she was now simply a riddle in a mystery.

Shepard shifted in his seat, his trousers rustling against the duffle on the floor between his legs. He didn't want to talk about this. Not now. Not when he didn't even know the answer himself. Shepard exhaled heavily and began rubbing at his temples. "It was nothing, ok? Just drop it."

"It obviously wasn't nothing," Miranda said. She turned left then veered right sharply, causing Shepard to hit his head against the window. She was tired of his brooding, which had worsened considerably in the past few weeks.

"What the hell, Miranda?" Shepard growled, holding his concussed head. "Didn't I do exactly what you wanted?" he sneered. "Didn't I kill your krogan?"

The sound of the thrusters grew louder as Miranda sped up the skycar. "_Nearly_ killed. And you ought to know that wasn't something I would want. But it _is_ the problem."

"_Really?_" Shepard said sarcastically. "Because you didn't seem to be doing much to stop it!"

"Damn it, John!" Miranda pulled the car, now flying at just under 90 mph, out of traffic and brought it to a screeching sideward halt on the nearest open platform. Miranda let go of the wheel and turned to Shepard. "You would have murdered that krogan if it wasn't for me!" She ran her hand through her hair as she took a calming breath. "Believe me, I tried to stop it. I had no idea what Zarnow was planning to do."

Shepard sat back in his seat. He wasn't the only one with problems, and for all he knew his were nothing compared to Miranda's. He had some idea of what Cerberus' inner workings were like from their conversations, but he knew Miranda would never let on just how bad it really was.

"Look, I…" _'_I'm sorry' is what Shepard had been thinking, but he didn't say it. He was tired of always being the one that had to apologize. "Can we talk about this later? Please?"

Miranda unbuckled herself and rotated so she was facing Shepard completely. "Under normal circumstances, John, I'd say yes. But I can't bring you to Oriana unless I know that _you_ - the John Shepard I know and have, for better or worse, been living with this past year is the one in control."

"What's with the eye rolling?" Shepard said defensively.

"I'm just amazed that after one year and who knows how many reprimands, you can still track water across the apartment after a shower and not even notice."

"Lies. All lies."

"Precisely what I'm talking about."

Shepard shook his head and looked out the window, but Miranda could see he was smiling.

"John," Miranda said in a more serious tone.

Shepard picked up his duffle and buried his face in it. He knew that tone. "There's no way I'm getting out of this, is there?" he said in a muffled voice.

Miranda bent her head and looked out the windows around her as she spoke. "Seeing as it's just you and me…in a locked car…on someone's balcony…in a place _I_ don't even recognize…probably not."

Shepard sighed and picked up his head. "Ok. Ask away."

Miranda brought one leg up on her seat and balanced her chin on her knee. "Why did you try to kill him?"

"Because I could. And because I felt like I was supposed to."

"That's it?" Miranda asked incredulously.

Shepard shrugged. "I could probably give you a hundred different reasons. Those two probably just hold the most truth."

"And you were in control the whole time? You knew what you were doing?"

"Maybe? I don't know. I wasn't really _thinking_ anything. I just _felt_."

"Felt what?"

Shepard looked down at his hands. "What I had to do. What would cause him the most pain. I felt…so _powerful._" He looked back up at Miranda. _Like I never feel when I'm with you_. And it was true. Whether weapon or hand-to-hand sparring, Shepard had yet to best her. He may have been powerful, but Miranda was fast. Smart. And when it wasn't sparring, when it was just the two of them, Shepard felt like he was always at her mercy. She could say or do the smallest of things and it alone would be enough to make or break his day.

Miranda reached her hand behind Shepard's neck and pulled him closer so she could lean her forehead against his. "Don't let that power control you, John. Every time you do something, just keep asking yourself why you're doing it. And make sure the answer you come to is yours and no one else's, ok?"

Shepard sighed comfortably and nodded his head.

"And…" Miranda started, as if unsure whether or not to continue. "Don't let all of this…Cerberus…change who you are."

"That's not fair, Miranda," he whispered.

"What?" Miranda pulled back just enough so that she could survey Shepard's face.

He opened his eyes and looked back at her. "You can't ask me not to change. People change every day, right? Whether they want to or not. I'm a different person now than I was when you met me on Mindoir, but that doesn't mean I'm any worse for it."

"No, you're right. It's just that…" Miranda looked down at the floor, deep in thought.

Shepard started lifting his hand, but then hesitated and squeezed it into a fist. _Screw it_, he thought to himself. If he were going to pay for it, he'd pay for it later. He unclenched his fist and used his finger to gently lift up her chin. "Just what?"

She didn't pull away. "Everyone has their own morality, John. And societal norms are just a compromise most people have agreed to accept. There's no one person whose morality reflects exactly their society's definition of right and wrong, and the same is true within Cerberus."

Miranda looked up at Shepard with expressive eyes. "Cerberus' methods can be crude and they can be cruel. Sometimes I believe they're necessary and sometimes I believe they're not. But at the end of the day I can sleep because I know I've done something right and good by joining them. And you need to find that for yourself. If you stay with Cerberus just because you feel like you owe us for saving you or because you feel like you have nothing else or…because of _me_….it will ruin you."

Shepard shrunk back into his seat. A few minutes ago he had been fighting a quiet desire to kiss Miranda Lawson, but now his entire body just felt heavy. She had brought up something he had deliberately chosen not to think about. Questions of morality…they were something he never really had to deal with back on Mindoir. To a limited degree he had, yes, but not like Miranda wanted him to now.

"Thanks." Shepard looked over at a quizzical Miranda. "I probably needed to hear that."

She nodded slowly as she buckled herself back in. "Shall we go?"

Shepard saw the balcony lights flicker on. "Before these guys call the cops on us for trespassing?"

"And vandalism." Miranda nodded towards some crushed patio furniture.

"Yeah, we should probably go."

* * *

><p>"I hope you know where you're going, because all these houses look the same to me." Shepard and Miranda were walking through one of Nos Astra's human residential districts on their way to meet Oriana. The buildings were packed closely together, and the two were following a metal pathway, on one side of which were fountains reminiscent of the Citadel and on the other were the townhouses' stoops. They had parked the aircar several tiers above and had been walking for the last ten minutes.<p>

The inconvenience presented by living in the lower tiers meant lower rental costs, which was precisely why Oriana's parents had chosen to live there. Miranda, after first meeting them, had offered to help pay for a nicer place to live, perhaps even a real house in the Nos Astran suburbs, but the humble old couple had insisted otherwise.

"One day, John, you're going to have to stop being such a male stereotype."

"In my defense, most stereotypes are based on statistical evidence."

"Not that one should aspire to conform to such statistics."

"Of course not." Shepard half smiled as Miranda rolled her eyes. He yawned and lifted up his arms to stretch, and when he hung them back at his sides, he felt Miranda take his hand. When he looked over at her, she was still faced forward, though he couldn't quite read her expression in the dim lighting.

He knew that he should have let go. He knew that once he was in bed about to sleep or sitting through another excruciatingly boring class on 22nd Century Volus Political Thought or really just any time when his mind was free to wander, he would start mulling over just what the action had meant. The longer the action persisted, the more he would have to meticulously dissect for meaning. He knew all this because it had all happened before. Every once in a while there would come a moment when Miranda let her guard down, when she'd let herself hold Shepard's hand or cuddle against him while they sat reading on the couch, and every time it would be followed by days of emotional distance and relative noncommunication. More often than not, she would simply pretend as though it hadn't meant anything or didn't even happen. Shepard, eventually, had learned to do the same. Or at least try to.

"This is it."

Shepard followed Miranda up the stairs and, after Miranda pressed the doorbell, waited for the door to open.

"I didn't notice your hair was this curly." Miranda let go of Shepard's hand and ran hers through his hair.

Shepard, self-conscious, reached up and patted his hair down. "Probably something to do with the fact that you shaved it off within 24 hours of first meeting me. Plus it's not curly. It's waved." Shepard looked up, trying to sight the hair he knew came just about down to his eyebrows.

"No, this is curly."

"Maybe curled, but not curly. Curly is like cork-screw curly."

"Maybe not _that_ curly, but once you get past the hair denial, you'll realize that it is still curly. And a mess." Miranda attempted to smooth out a particularly obstinate patch of hair.

"You're making me want to shave it off again," Shepard sulked.

"Why?" Miranda asked innocently. "It's cute."

Shepard narrowed his eyes. "Now I really want to shave it off."

Miranda's eyes glimmered playfully, but her teasing was cut short when the door before her and Shepard creaked open.

She stiffened awkwardly. "Mr. and Mrs. Solheim." Miranda held her hand out to Oriana's adoptive father, a man of average build, close-cut dark brown hair, and a kind, weathered face.

The man took Miranda's hand in both of his and smiled. "You know how I prefer Gudmund." Miranda nodded shyly and looked over to Shepard, who was hunched over so Alba could give him a tight squeeze. Once he resurfaced, he and Miranda shuffled around each other awkwardly on the small patio so they could switch places.

"Well let's not keep the two standing out here. Come in, come in." Miranda and Shepard followed the couple inside, past the small foyer and into the nearby kitchen. The house was small, and at times seemed even more cramped because of the quirky decorations that decorated the walls and shelves. But the atmosphere was always warm and lively, and the air always smelled of Alba's homemade colonial Italian cooking.

After exchanging their usual pleasantries, Miranda put down her aperitif and turned to the older couple. "Regarding Oriana's education, I really think you should reconsid—" Shepard's eyes widened and, after coughing up some of his crème de menthe, put his glass down and looped his arm around Miranda's waist.

"Excuse us a minute." He pulled Miranda away and into the adjacent living room. He looked back at Gudmund and smiled one last time before the two were out of sight. He let go of Miranda and faced her directly. "How many times are you going to do this?"

"Do what?" Miranda said defensively. "As Oriana's sister, don't I get a say in how she's raised? All I want is for her to get the best advantage she can, and that doesn't include attending the local _public school_."

Shepard brought his hand to his face and sighed. "_This_ is exactly what I mean. Look, Ori's really smart. She'll do fine no matter where she goes."

"_Fine_ isn't good enough. I even told them I'd pay for it!" Miranda hissed. Shepard brought his finger to his lips and, after looking back through the doorway to where Oriana's parents stood chatting in the kitchen, returned to his low whisper.

"Miranda, you have to know what kind of situation you're putting them in." Shepard raised his eyebrows and looked at her. He had heard stories from his trainers about how Miranda was a perfectionist when on assignments for Cerberus, and how no one was better at manipulating targets. But around Oriana, she seemed to forget even the most basic of training.

"I…yes, but-"

"I know you just want what's best for her but – and _please_ don't kill me for saying this – so did your father for you when he did all those twisted things to you." Shepard cringed in preparation for some kind of biotic or verbal lash out. Instead, Miranda looked to the side and bit her tongue.

Shepard let out a relieved breath. "So can we go out there and have a nice, _relaxed_ conversation? There's that entire fiasco with the batarian embassy being withdrawn from the Citadel and you know how these guys love talking politics."

"Fine," Miranda said with an edge. Shepard returned to her side and was about to take her waist again when Miranda held up her hand. "Don't touch me."

Shepard looked upwards in exasperation and shook his head, putting his hands up in surrender. Apparently whatever favorable atmosphere they had between them before was now beaten and lifeless.

The two returned to the kitchen, the space separating them noticeably larger.

"So I understand Oriana's school cancelled classes to celebrate Foundation Day?" Miranda's voice held a hint of disapproval, which Shepard was sure she had let surface intentionally.

"Yes, and I think Oriana really enjoyed herself…" As Alba began talking animatedly about the day's festivities, Shepard's mind wandered. Normally he was happy to absorb even the most mundane details of Oriana's school life, but listening about the Alliance's annual ego-trip was the exception. He heard a soft pattering of footsteps nearby and leaned back so he could see down the foyer and up the stairs.

"Hey, Shep!" A four-foot tall girl, the spitting image of Miranda, came bounding down the hallway.

"What's up Ori?" Shepard stepped out into the hallway, crouched down and did his and Oriana's secret handshake before standing back up and leading her into the kitchen. It didn't take her long to become as bored with the conversation as Shepard was, and eventually she took to grabbing onto Shepard's hand with her left, Miranda's with her right, and swinging herself back and forth so the toes of her socks slid across the kitchen floor.

"_Oriana_," Miranda said sternly.

"_Miranda_," Oriana shot back in a mock-serious tone. Shepard grinned. The five year old had recently shifted from being totally rule abiding to sassy and precocious which, if Miranda's face was any indication, she was not totally pleased with.

"_John_."

"What?" he replied automatically.

"Don't encourage her."

"I didn't—"

"'Randa, I want to plaaay!" Oriana half sung, half whined. She tugged on Shepard and Miranda's hands again as she leaned backwards.

"Oriana, you need to learn not to interrupt adults when they're talking." Miranda looked down at Oriana who gave a dramatic sigh and pouted.

"Play what?" Shepard whispered down to the five-year-old girl. Almost instantly he could feel Miranda's glare burning into him. "Well _I'm_ done talking."

"I should've known better than to consider you an adult," Miranda said out of earshot of the others.

Shepard was trying to think up a retort when Oriana squealed and pulled on his hand excitedly. "Prince saves the princess!"

Shepard shot Miranda, who he was sure was itching to start in on a lecture about human gender roles, a warning look before he turned back to Oriana. "Who's the princess?"

"Me! And you can be my prince."

"Sweet," Shepard said. "What about Miranda?"

"She's the evil witch that tries to keep us apart!" Oriana made a grimace and waved around an invisible wand. Miranda was momentarily taken aback but Shepard just gave her a look that was part sympathy and part 'this is what you get,' but mostly the latter. "C'mooon!"

Shepard, his allegiances made clear long ago, sought Miranda's eyes for approval. The young Cerberus operative looked from him to Oriana and finally to Oriana's parents.

"Go ahead! We shouldn't be taking up all your time anyway." Alba smiled sweetly and shooed them away.

Miranda nodded and mouthed 'thank you' as Oriana pulled her and Shepard from the kitchen and towards the stairs. They hadn't yet reached the landing, however, when Miranda's omnitool flickered on and let out a light ping. She looked down at the signature, annoyed that anyone would contact her when she had explicitly informed all her colleagues that she had plans for the night.

Shepard turned his head away from a chattering Oriana and saw that Miranda had come to a full stop. "Gimme a minute, ok Ori?"

"A _whole minute?_"

"Yup. And then we can play as long as you want." Shepard leaned forward to give Oriana a light kiss on the top of her head before he let go of her hand and walked down the few steps to the landing where Miranda stood.

"What is it?"

"A call I have to take." Miranda looked around Shepard's shoulder to Oriana, who was sitting on a stair holding her cheeks in her hands. "Just tell her I'll be up as soon as I can."

"Yeah, sure. You sure everything's all right?" Shepard tilted his head to the side and looked at Miranda more closely. Miranda nodded and pushed Shepard gently back towards her sister.

Shepard took the hint and let it go. He turned around and scooped up Oriana in one arm, making loud smooching noises as he kissed her on the cheek. Miranda watched the two go, their voices trailing off as they discussed what 'big, bad monster' Shepard would be saving her from today.

Miranda felt a twinge of jealousy. Shepard had been able to get along with Oriana so naturally, starting practically the second they met. Meanwhile Miranda had and still continued to struggle to show her affection, often lapsing into stiff lectures and criticisms. On days when Shepard couldn't come (which, as Shepard was willing to shuffle around his entire week's schedule just to open up a couple hours to spend with Oriana, were exceedingly rare), Miranda and Oriana's 'play' would often become a battery of complex exercises to stimulate Oriana's intellectual development and discrete tests to measure her overall growth. While she was overall grateful for Shepard's company, Miranda was at times uneasy with the debt she was racking up towards the teenager. After all, had it not been for Shepard, she never would have organized to have coffee with Oriana's parents, she never would have started her twice weekly visits, and she never would have had the relationship with Oriana she had now.

Miranda's omnitool let out another soft ping, reminding her just who was on the other line. The young woman pulled her eyes away from Shepard's retreating back, and went back downstairs and through the backdoor onto the dimly lit porch. She took a deep breath, straightened her back, and opened up the omnitool's video link.

"Illusive Man."

"Miranda." The Illusive Man sat quietly, taking a slow drag on his cigar, and Miranda felt as though he was right in front of her, his azure eyes watching her intensely. "Dr. Zarnow forwarded me the latest data on Endymion earlier. I'm impressed with your work. He's progressed more quickly than I had ever expected."

"Thank you, sir." Miranda's face was unreadable, but inwardly she was growing suspicious. What had made the Illusive Man go out of his way to contact her? And why now?

Another silent moment passed as the Illusive Man brought his cigar to his mouth. Miranda never passed up an opportunity to boast about her projects' achievements and stress her value to him, but today she remained unusually quiet. "It's time to set up a red test."

Miranda's eyes narrowed. "With all due respect, I disagree. Joh—" Miranda flinched. "Endymion has had no prior experience in the field. There're too many variables he hasn't been exposed to, whose consequences we cannot presently predict."

"Cerberus can't prepare Endymion for everything; nor should it have to. Zarnow believes the subject is ready, and based on these numbers so do I."

"Zarnow only wants his data; he has no concern for the subject's well-being!"

"But you do."

"Of course I do! He's my—" Miranda, whose voice had been steadily rising, took a moment to calm herself. "He's my project, under my control – not Zarnow's." Miranda looked at the Illusive Man fiercely, "And not yours. I signed on to this project for the free rein it offered, and I _will_ have it." Miranda knew she was bluffing with that last statement. Desperate to prove her value to the Illusive Man, she had volunteered for the project as soon as she had caught wind of it through the bots she had surveilling her colleagues' email. Had a larger selection of projects been open to her at the time, Miranda was positive she would not have opted for one that required her to spend years of her life babysitting a teenage colony bumpkin, as was her perception of Project Endymion at its start.

Furthermore, that Alaster Burkhard, who had retired from Cerberus to start a small farm on Mindoir, had discovered Shepard when he had, forwarded the information to Cerberus despite his retirement, and opened up a project that seemed almost perfectly tailored to Miranda's skillset was a massive stroke of luck.

But none of that mattered now. Endymion was hers and she would no longer jeopardize Shepard nor the ideals she had espoused to him earlier to curry the Illusive Man's favor.

The Illusive Man smiled abstrusely at Miranda's words. "That, Miranda, is what makes you such a promising operative." And it was true. The Illusive Man was accustomed to shameless brownnosing by Cerberus operatives, including project leaders. Such men and women had their own use within the organization, but the Illusive Man needed more from the operative that would become his right hand and perhaps even his successor.

Between Miranda's impressive, but uninspiring, performance on previous assignments, banal eagerness to please, and poorly dissembled emotional entanglement with Endymion, the Illusive Man had been prepared to write her off as just another tool at his disposal. But now he was intrigued. Still, he would continue to watch Miranda to see whether her feelings for Endymion would become a possible strength. Love, after all, was a powerful motivator. It created a personal investment that, when intertwined with Cerberus values, was a surefire way to maintain an operative's continued, even tenacious support. And if her feelings became a weakness, loss worked just as well.

"Very well, Miranda. What do you suggest be done?"

Miranda lapsed into a thoughtful silence. "That he undertake missions with me. He'll learn how to apply what he's learned in the field and use them to adapt to changing situations. When I deem him ready, I'll administer the red test."

"Then it's decided. I'll upgrade your security clearance so you can have access to all intel on local assignments."

"Sir." Miranda watched the Illusive Man's image flicker away, leaving her alone on the dark porch. She let out a heavy sigh and when she looked up she could see the light coming from Oriana's room.

The red test. The final stage of becoming a Cerberus operative. The Illusive Man's proof that one was willing to kill for his cause.

* * *

><p>AN: Credit where credit's due, I picked up the idea of the red test from Chuck.


	18. Think Scale Itch

**Hellhound**

"Wait, wait, wait. You're telling me that you, the daughter of the president of Terra Firma, aren't even a party member?" A wiry young man with jet-black hair, two or three inches shorter than Shepard, looked across the booth incredulously.

"What? Offended that I have a political conscience independent of my parents?" Melanie Simmons crossed her legs under the table and leaned back against Shepard's arm. "John's views are more in line with Terra Firma's than mine are."

"It's true." Shepard reached forward with his left hand and took the affogato that a young human waitress had just placed in front of him. Late summers in Nos Astra were exceptionally hot, and Shepard was looking forward to reaching the gelato scoop buried under his espresso shot.

"Shepard, you don't seriously buy into that xenophobic garbage do you?" The girl that spoke this time had sharp features, a slim face, and a short, somewhat messy bob; Alice, Mel's best friend, and the wiry young man's fraternal twin.

"It's not the platform that's xenophobic, just some of the supporters. Terra's mostly about limiting galactic integration, and I can't say I really see a problem with that."

"Limiting? You mean completely eradicating it."

"Even Terra Firma knows that's pretty impossible in this day and age," Mel said calmly.

"But take someone like Eternal Earth…" Erik responded, turning his right hand palm up.

"Those guys are crazy," Shepard said. "I'm pretty sure they're not even a legitimate political party."

"Ok, but still, how can you be against integration? That's basically suggesting we follow the Batarian Hegemony's example and become a rogue state."

"I'm not suggesting total isolation from the galactic political system. I'm just saying that too much economic integration is against human interests. Look at America in the mid-21st century. They had so much foreign-owned national debt, they couldn't even stop China's supplanting them as the sole global hegemony."

"The hegemony that was built on a predominantly American export market." Mel turned to the left to face Shepard.

"_Initially_ built. In the end they ended up diversifying their investment portfolio and increasing domestic consumption enough that the American market became secondary. Which is exactly what the Alliance needs to do now. Promote in-species trade, especially with the colonies. Not become economically dependent on the Council."

"I may actually be with Alice for a change on this. I mean, doesn't more integration mean more influence on Council policy? And greater representation of human interests?" Erik looked between the other three.

"That _would_ be what our resident liberal would have you believe," Shepard replied almost immediately. "But the Council is just another regime representing hegemonic interests. In today's case, the asari. Humanity's better off building its own strength and creating a new 'legitimate,'" Shepard said the word sarcastically, "regime. The fact that we managed to get an ambassador in less than six years after the Contact War is proof we have the potential."

"The Council _is_ legitimate," Alice shot back as soon as Shepard took a breath. "If humanity wants to influence galactic politics, it should do so by spreading it's culture and social values, and forming tighter economic bonds with the Council races. Why are males always so quick to fall back on military means as solutions to political, diplomatic problems?"

Mel, who like Erik, had largely been shut out of the conversation, decided to speak up. "'Always' is an exaggeration."

"A slight one. States with a larger male percentage of the population are statistically and historically more belligerent," Alice said officiously.

"Yet in the last hundred years, it's been female leaders who have been more supportive of going to war," Shepard rebuked.

"Not that I'm an expert in feminist politics," Erik said carefully, "but isn't that just because women are more likely to go to war over human rights' violations?"

"I always attributed it to the pressure on women in power to act more masculine than their male equivalents."

Alice sighed in exasperation and sat back against the booth. "I'm surrounded by cynics."

"Honestly, I don't know how you can know as much about galactic politics as you do and _not_ be a cynic. In the end, every species is in it for their own survival."

"Wow, seriously? Mel, I don't even know how you're dating this."

Mel laughed and lightly touched Shepard's arm, which was hanging over her shoulder. "What can I say? He's cute." Shepard smiled and leaned over to plant a chaste kiss on Mel's lips.

Alice watched Shepard lazily lace his fingers together with Mel's and rolled her eyes. "You guys need to stop being so adorable. It's sickening. Wait…" Alice squinted her eyes, licked her lips, and made a face as though she had just eaten something sour. "No, yeah that's it. I'm sickened."

"Alice," Mel said in a chiding voice.

"What? He knows I'm only joking."

"At least half-joking." Shepard just kept smiling as he matched Alice's glare. Her eyes, accentuated by her habitual dark and heavy eyeliner, seemed to smolder intensely. Shepard knew that she had never trusted him completely, though he was still unsure whether it was because of her protectiveness of her best friend or perhaps something else. Either way, Shepard knew his act had thus far been near flawless, so much so that even he had trouble distinguishing his truths from his lies; it was only when he returned home to the apartment that he could remember which was which.

"John, we should get going," Mel said, untangling herself from his arms. "These two have a party to get to."

Alice sighed miserably. "Right. A whole evening of corporate fat cats stroking each other's egos while we pretend to be perfect children."

"We?" Erik said in disbelief. "You mean _me_. You can't have a conversation with a single one of dad's friends without hounding them about environmental violations."

Shepard hastily swept his credit chit across the digital checkpad, and scooted out of the booth after Mel. "So we'll see you guys tomorrow," he said, though he was sure his voice was lost in the two's bickering.

He looked over to Mel who was still beside him. "Should I…?"

"No point." Mel took Shepard's hand and led him from the shop. Shepard only looked back after hearing the voice of a VI wishing him and 'Ms. Simmons' a good afternoon.

That still weirded him out.

* * *

><p>Shepard leaned back against the bed's headboard, careful not to disturb Mel who was sitting between his legs reading an article on a recent Earth petition to illegalize galactic video games that contained virtual war crimes against humanity. He turned to the side and reached into the pocket of his school uniform jacket, hanging on the corner post, to pull out his wallet. When he did, a small paper strip fell out onto the mattress; Shepard recognized the photos from when he and Mel had gone downtown to Little Tokyo and she had convinced him to climb into a photo booth with her.<p>

Shepard took his arm from where it had been wrapped around her waist, picked up the printout, and ran his thumb over its smooth, filmy surface. Now that he thought about it, he didn't have single picture of Miranda, let alone them both. The apartment had always been pretty bare, the only framed picture being one of some opera house back on Earth that sat on a harbor. Shepard let his head fall back against the wall with a light thud. Miranda had been off-planet on an assignment for almost a week now, but evidently her absence hadn't cleared Shepard's head the way he thought it would. Shepard sighed. It was time to call the one person with whom he could (semi)openly talk about his relationship with Miranda: Niket.

Mel turned around to look at Shepard who had unknowingly twisted his face into a grimace. "Everything ok?"

"Huh?" Shepard's eyes snapped up away from the printout, which he tucked back into his wallet. "Yeah, just dreading that econ paper I still haven't started."

Any suspicion that the young woman had held quickly fell away. She craned her neck upwards and kissed Shepard lightly before returning to her datapad. "That paper's not due for a week, you know?"

"Yeah, but it's the anticipatory anxiety that eats away at you." Shepard wrapped one arm around Mel's chest and another around her waist and pulled her closer so he could rest his head on her shoulder.

Mel laid down the datapad on the nearby nightstand and sighed comfortably as she let herself relax into Shepard's embrace. She turned her head to the side and studied Shepard's face, her gaze passing over his closed eyes and hovering over his slightly cracked lips. "Hey."

"Hmm?" Shepard didn't even have the time to properly respond before he felt Mel's mouth press against his in an uncharacteristically adventurous kiss. Shepard's eyes widened and before he knew it she had slid underneath him and was tugging at his belt, drawing him closer to her prostrated body.

Wait, this wasn't going where he thought it was, was it? Shepard pulled his mouth away and found himself breathing heavily, his body raggedly taking in air. He propped himself up on his arms and looked down at Mel whose fingers were fumbling, trying to undo the button of his shirt.

Apparently it was. _Shit._

_Shit, shit, shit, _shit. This wasn't supposed to be happening. Not now. Not anytime soon. Shepard had actually convinced himself he wouldn't have to deal with this ever. Didn't she say she wanted to go slow? Wasn't that the plan? He couldn't _sleep_ with h—

Shepard gasped as he felt a cold hand run down across his abs and reach into his pants. He blinked hard twice and looked anywhere that wasn't down. He felt his blood rushing, but not in the direction he wanted it to.

Again, _shit._ Shepard clenched his jaw shut. _Gotta concentrate. Calm down. Ok. Uhhh rachni. Rachni Wars. Krogan uplift. Krogan. Krogan…_

Shepard felt Mel begin to caress the side of his neck. _Council! Council. Asari councilor. No! Shit. She's actually kinda hot. Back to krogan. Krogan. Varren. Scale itch. _Shepard cringed. It was working._ Human with scale itch. Dr. Zarnow with scale itch._ Shepard shuddered then let out a relieved breath as he felt his former lucidity return to him.

Right. What had he been thinking about? _How you're going to sleep with her._

_No! How I'm _not_ going to sleep with her. God, would you just shut up down there?_

He wouldn't sleep with her – couldn't. Sure he was willing to pretend he was her boyfriend, but that's only because the way he saw it he wasn't hurting anyone. He was always respectful. Always romantic. And even if he wasn't always romantic, he was at least _affectionate_. He did genuinely care for her, just not in that way. He enjoyed talking with her and when they were together, his thoughts were also with her…mostly.

But he wouldn't sleep with her. It was unnecessarily cruel. And while there was much he was willing to do for Cerberus, that did not include sacrificing his dignity.

Shepard found his resolve; now if he could just find a way to act on it before it dissolved in an overflow of teenage hormones.

Luckily, he never had to.

A loud ping was heard in the room as Shepard's omnitool flickered on. Shepard's eyes widened and he seized the opportunity to push away half deliberately, half very, very much against his will the bare legs that had wrapped themselves around him. "I'm just gonna…get…that." Shepard stood up and turned away, shaking his head back and forth as he tried to regain himself. He lifted up his arm and checked the message he had just received.

_New delivery. Need you. –Adam R._

"Who is it?" Mel moved to sit at the edge of the bed, her arms folded across her chest self-consciously.

Shepard cleared his throat. "Adam, from work."

"Rawlins…or something, right?" Mel's eyes flickered up to Shepard, wondering whether or not he would return to the bed.

Shepard didn't move. "Rawlinson, yeah. Apparently they just got a big shipment and they need my help sorting it out."

"And you're going?"

There was a brief silence before Shepard responded. "Yeah."

"Got it." Mel reached behind her for the sheets and covered herself.

"I should…go." Shepard was still standing awkwardly in front of her, partially undressed.

"Right."

Shepard waited to see if she would say something more and, when she didn't, began nervously picking up the pieces of his school uniform as he made his way to the door. He was half out the doorway when he sighed, put the clothes he was carrying down, and turned around.

He walked back into the room and sat down on the bed next to Mel, still wrapped in the bed sheets. "I uh…" Shepard started rubbing the back of neck and looked down at the spot on the floor between his feet. "We should…" Shepard's voice tapered off and he clenched his left hand into a fist and held it against his mouth. "I'll see you at school tomorrow."

Mel gave a small smile. She hadn't seen Shepard so flustered since the first time he had introduced himself to her months ago. "Sounds good. We're still heading over together?"

Shepard, relieved, exhaled loudly. "Should be. As long as my bike doesn't get totaled in the next few hours."

* * *

><p>AN: I'm pretty sure I'm still safely inside a T rating, but should anyone disagree, do tell. Also, tell me if you liked the political back and forth at the beginning because I could definitely have a field day on the galactic political system of the ME 'verse.


	19. Not So Perfect

Disclaimer: Mass Effect and all its characters belong to Bioware.

**Hellhound**

When Shepard stepped into the apartment, the first thing he heard was the familiar, clipped voice of Miranda Lawson.

"You certainly took your time."

Shepard looked to his right and saw Miranda walking down the steps. He shrugged off his jacket and hung it in the closet as he spoke. "You're kidding, right? If the hog were publicly registered, I probably would've picked up a dozen traffic violations just getting over here." Shepard closed the door to the closet behind him and joined Miranda at the base of the stairs. "Wasn't expecting you back for a couple days. Welcome back."

"Glad to be home." Miranda held Shepard's gaze for a long moment before he cleared his throat and held up his omnitool.

"So what's the delivery, Mr. Adam Rawlinson?" Shepard had never ceased to be amused by the fact that Miranda, for all her love of complex, home-made ciphertexts, had settled on a simple anagram as the name that would pop-up on his omnitool.

Miranda started heading into the main living area, beckoning Shepard to follow after her. "It's time for your first assignment."

"Any chance I could get a very cold shower first?" Shepard shifted uncomfortably as he remembered where he had been less than half an hour ago.

Miranda turned on the display from her omnitool and looked left at Shepard. "Did something happen with Mel?"

"No! Why would you…oh." Shepard tried to fight off his chagrin as Miranda watched on with an amused smirk.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

"If _it_ is the catastrophic state of my cover then…" Shepard's voice tapered off as the light on the display went green, indicating that the link on the other side of the line had been established. The display flickered on and Shepard found himself standing before a wall-size image of a fit, silver-haired, and at least fifty-years old woman dressed in Alliance blues. Shepard's eyes automatically went to the women's shoulders: a two-inch gold stripe with three half-inch stripes above it.

_An adm—_

"—iral Agrafina Potemkin," Miranda's change in demeanor was stark as she introduced the Alliance brass in a cold, business-like tone. "A long time Cerberus supporter and one of our most reliable sources of intel within the Alliance's upper echelons. She has an assignment that," Miranda looked over to Shepard, "requires someone of your particular abilities."

The Admiral's voice took over almost immediately. "I was told you're a skilled counter-biotic. I don't know what precisely that entails, but it sounds like someone I could use." The Admiral's image shrunk to a small frame in the corner of the display, making room for a picture of a young maiden asari. "Kora Akakios. A powerful biotic whom Cerberus reported landing at the Nos Astra docks earlier today. I want her captured before she jumps into Asari Space and leaks any sensitive information."

"Sensitive information?" Shepard saw Potemkin's eyes narrow.

"Yes. This particular asari happens to have vital proof of my…indiscretions." Instead of shrink back in shame, the aged woman straightened her back further and wore an even more severe expression. "If that disc leaves her hands, it could compromise my position within the Alliance."

"And if you lose your position, Cerberus loses critical Alliance intel. Which means we get to take out your dirty laundry." Shepard crossed his arms and gave the Admiral a hard look.

"So you _are_ more than just a pretty face. Find the asari. Recover the evidence. I don't care what you do with her, him, it, _whatever_ afterwards. Any problems?"

Miranda put a hand on Shepard's shoulder and stepped forward. "None whatsoever, Admiral. We'll contact you as soon as it's done."

"Make it soon, Operative." Potemkin reached toward the camera and cut the feed.

Once the screen was black, Shepard, arms still crossed, leaned against the arm of the couch and let out a slow whistle. "An admiral? How'd you guys manage to turn her? I mean, she must've already been in the Alliance when Cerberus started up, right?"

Miranda moved past Shepard and crouched down in front of a bureau that was against the wall with the display. "There were a lot of Alliance officers interested in what Cerberus had to say after the First Contact War. Potemkin was one of the ones smart enough to keep her mouth shut and her ears open." Shepard heard a faint click and the top of the bureau slid open, revealing a small armory. Miranda selected two hand pieces and handed one back to Shepard. "I've also heard that she joined because she was disgusted with the predominantly male Alliance hierarchy. Obviously, Cerberus doesn't believe in such petty discriminations."

"Just vicious universal Darwinism."

"I hardly consider that an insult." Miranda held up her Harpy IX, checked its mass accelerator, and confirmed its palladium store. The dense metal block, Miranda knew, wore down the equivalent of one grain of sand at a time as each was shaved off and propelled forward by the pistol's accelerator technology. Though well aware the chances of running out of palladium were slim, Miranda still insisted on checking the store, which had become something of a pre-assignment ritual for her.

"It wasn't meant to be. The bottom line is that Cerberus is a volunteer organization. Everyone who joins knows what they're getting into."

"Did you?" Miranda stopped her weapons check, and there was a brief lull in the conversation.

"I do now." Shepard looked away from her and weighed the pistol in his hand. "This really necessary?"

"Think of it as an insurance plan. I don't expect you'll need it, but that's precisely why you'll bring it." Miranda saw the unease in Shepard's face and sincerely hoped his biotics would be enough to get him through the mission. She knew how he felt about guns (and thought she knew how he felt about killing), and though she had accepted the inevitability of his red test, she was in no hurry to get there. That was why she had chosen to run Potemkin's errand, because it was a simple retrieval: no shooting and no blood. Miranda hoped to ease Shepard into his red test, if killing could be eased into at all.

Shepard shrugged and tucked the pistol into the band of his pants. "You're driving?"

Miranda closed the armory and made her way to the elevator. "We both are if we want any chance of catching the target. Akakios is flighty, to say the least. She managed to escape the agents we had waiting for her at the spaceport, but it's only a matter of time before she finds a way off planet and into Asari Space. Once she gets back to the asari homeworlds, she'll be effectively outside the Cerberus network."

"The Illusive Empire," Shepard mused.

"Sorry?"

"Andrei tells me that's what they're calling it these days. Though if Cerberus is so 'illusive,' I don't know why we just had a face to face with an Alliance admiral." Shepard pressed the button for the parking area on the elevator panel.

"Part of the reason Cerberus is considered 'illusive' is simply that, thus far, neither the Council nor the Alliance nor any of their private investigators have been able to find legal, conclusive proof of our dealings. Not that they don't have their suspicions. And when our digital footprint doesn't come to a dead-end, it leads right back to Council Space officers that couldn't have less to do with our human nationalist doctrine."

"'Council Caught With Their Pants Down.'" Shepard looked over at Miranda's bewildered face. "It was a headline on Earth Eternal's extranet blog a while back."

"You really need to start reading from legitimate news channels."

"What can I say? Conspiracy theories and celebrity news are my guilty pleasures."

Miranda rolled her eyes. "That particular headline is probably referring to the Council leaks."

"Another Cerberus surprise?"

"Courtesy of the small army of hackers within our tech division dedicated solely to digging up the Council's and all their friends' dirty secrets."

"So what division do we fall under?" Shepard leaned over the roof of the skycar and looked at Miranda.

"Biotic Research. But our cell is so low on the priority list…"

"We're basically grunts."

"Something of the sort - thus the informalities. Though it was only because the Admiral insisted on seeing our faces that we were debriefed that way."

"I'm guessing she's a big enough deal to get what she wants, when she wants."

"To a degree. She won't have access to any higher class cells, but small favors and pay bumps are considered reasonable demands."

"You seem to know a lot for a 'grunt,'" Shepard said with mock suspicion.

"Tinkering with Cerberus security infrastructure happens to be a hobby of mine." Miranda gave a self-assured smirk as she spoke.

Shepard stood up straight and rolled his shoulders as he turned toward his airhog. "Your idea of fun scares me."

* * *

><p>"John, can you hear me?" Miranda's voice surrounded Shepard as the radio's signal was transmitted wirelessly from Shepard's headset to the airhog's interior speakers.<p>

"Loud and clear."

"Good. I've sent the coordinates for Akakios' last known location to the hog's GPS. Eyes on me until we get off the main airway. Once we hit point alpha, we'll split up and take separate routes to Nos Astra Nights. Hopefully we can pick her up trying to enter the hotel."

"You got it boss," Shepard kept the airhog not far behind Miranda, carefully following the blue streamlights.

"Very funny," Miranda scoffed.

"Told you I had a sense of humor."

"Please. You've either no sense of humor or no eye for sarcasm. Your choice."

Shepard, sealed within the airhog's dark interior with nothing but the soft green light of the control panel glowing against his face, gave a short laugh. "I think I'll take the second one. Less damaging to my ego."

Miranda's response came back over the surround, as if she was really right there next to Shepard. "Ah, John. Always one to run from realities."

"Only those I can't change." Shepard untinted the airhog's glass covering so he could look out at the familiar neighborhood. "Watch the intersection coming up. The salarians around here love running lights."

Miranda saw Shepard pull up beside her as they waited for the light to change colors. Her headset went quiet, and after thirty seconds or so, it automatically went off with a _click_.

_Click_. It was then that Miranda realized that that had been the first time her headset went off since she had climbed into the car. Save for the occasional short silences, she and Shepard had been talking nonstop since the debriefing. That was odd. That…wasn't her. The Miranda Lawson she knew was blunt, brief, and hated idle chatter. _That_ Miranda had gone on joint missions before, and carried them out to success without saying anything more than a few curt commands on the field. Yet here she was prattling away like some common schoolgirl about, well, _nothing_. Not about Dr. M. Solus' _Treatment Modalities Utilizing Redundant Nervous Systems_. Not about possible ways the growth of Terra Firma could affect Alliance policy initiatives. Shepard had the peculiar effect of being able to engage Miranda Lawson for hours on end in the kind of mundane, insubstantial chitchat the twenty-one year old had long ago convinced herself she hated.

Far from bringing disgust, her newly found awareness only made Miranda miss the 'chitchat' more. Only in retrospect could she see how the idle banter helped her de-stress when she would return home (_home –_ no longer such a foreign word) and how each word would work towards the careful deconstruction of the titanium walls she surrounded herself in during the day.

The lights finally changed and Miranda started up her thrusters. "What happened with Mel today?" Miranda heard another laugh through her headset. "What?"

"Nothing," Shepard quickly replied. "Just sometimes I realize how futile it is thinking you'll ever just forget something. Got a memory like a steel trap."

"I _am_—"

"The perfect woman. Don't have to tell me twice…or however many times you've told me that by this point."

"If that was an attempt to change topics, although admirable I'm afraid it didn't work." Miranda kept her eyes glued to the airway and the Nos Astran night skyline.

"The thing with Mel was just…" Shepard sighed. "Let's just say she's not as _conservative_ as I was lead to believe."

"The implication I assume is sexual."

"I swear it's like you _want_ me to drive into the wide side of a freighter."

"A commendable, thought not quite admirable, attempt. What was the problem exactly?"

"Well…._that_ was the problem. I couldn't sleep with her, but I'm also pretty sure it's not normal behavior for a boyfriend to get out of getting laid."

"And why couldn't you? Sleep with her, obviously."

"'Why couldn't I'…? Don't tell me you take that flippant of a disposition when you're in similar situations." Shepard released his grip on the hog's handlebars when he noticed his knuckles turning white.

"Of course not, but I see your point. Split up here." Miranda stopped talking when she was cut off by a bout of conspicuously forced coughing.

"So when you say 'of course not'…"

"Operatives that resort to using their bodies like that for a mission are either unintelligent, unimaginative, or both. Obviously I'm neither."

Shepard smiled at Miranda's unabashed arrogance. Though some might argue that it was a manifest flaw in the so-called 'perfect woman's' personality, or symptomatic of a confident and independent young woman, Shepard had come to see Miranda's references to self-perfection as indicative of a subtle but deep-seated insecurity. She was continuing to attribute all her success to her genetic tailoring, while carefully hoarding her failures, thus preserving the pressure her father had first laid on her years ago. In the end, every time Miranda Lawson talked about how perfect she was, Shepard found it an endearing reminder of how perfect she wasn't. "Where would my trainers fall?"

"You tell me. Though for those two I suppose it's more a matter of personal philosophy than ability."

"Probably. Fatinah says she'll go with the cute ones and Czerno…just takes what he can get."

"Which is probably next to nothing considering he does primarily military ops and has proven wanting in any seductive capacity." Miranda's voice became much more stern when she continued, "I'm almost at the hotel; how far out are you?"

"Two minutes, tops. Any sign of Akakios?"

"Nothing yet. Though…" Miranda brought the skycar to a hover and began tapping commands into her omnitool. "Hotel logs have her as checked-in but off-premises for the last eight hours."

"So now we wait."

"Now we—" Miranda sat forward when she saw an skycar slow near the hotel entrance then suddenly speed up.

"Miranda?"

"John, what was the make on Akakios' car?" Miranda fired up her thrusters and made a sharp U-turn to go after the car.

"A…yellow Lotus Edlyn. Miranda, what's going on?"

"Akakios made us! She's headed south on Avenue of the Republics. Watch my signature and cut her off at the next intersection!"

"Got it." Shepard heard a muffled roar as he fired up the hog's fusion torches and started speeding down the airway parallel to Miranda and Akakios'.

"Damn it!" Miranda hissed into her mic, her accent affecting her words more heavily. Shepard had noticed a while back (perhaps the first time had been the night he had dislodged shrapnel from her back) that Miranda's accent would deteriorate from its normal cultivated status to general and finally to broad when she was under serious duress.

"Expletives don't exactly inspire confidence, Miranda," Shepard said, trying to cloak his worry. He alternated looking ahead as the airhog zoomed forward and peering out his side window, trying to catch a glimpse of Miranda through the smaller streets running east-west. "What the hell's happening?"

"Akakios opened fire. Bloody hell, I think she hit my H3 tank!"

"Well what are you still doing on the road?" Shepard waited anxiously for Miranda's reply, but heard nothing save the dulled hum of his thrusters.

Finally, he heard her voice come in over the comm. "Stay on the asari. I'll be back up in the air as soon as possible." Miranda landed the skycar and hastily climbed out and sprinted away from it. She looked at the empty blast radius and then to the buildings around her; she was in the middle of a civilian district. The chances that the H3 would get lit were slim, but on the off chance it did before she called in the cleanup crew and there were people nearby…Miranda sighed, pulled out the pistol tucked into the back band of her pants, and prepared to fire a single shot into the leaking helium tank.

_What a shame_, she thought. She really did like that car.

* * *

><p><em>Almost there…<em>

The airhog was now just yards away from Akakios' Lotus, and Shepard was so focused on catching up to her he hardly noticed the bright, sky-blue lights of Nos Astra's city tunnels. Akakios, who had taken to squeezing off shots sporadically from the heavy pistol she held out the Lotus' window, wove deftly through the traffic and had Shepard not been directly on her tail, he would have undoubtedly been caught in the mess of cars left in her wake.

Shepard flinched as another burst of gunfire peppered the airhog's glass covering, momentarily causing his heads-up display to pixelate and a loud screech to play over the hog's speakers. Once he recovered, he shifted his weight forward, causing the nose of the airhog to dip under Akakios' car. He aligned himself under the car's passenger side and switched on his underside thrusters to full blast. The Lotus was pushed up out of traffic and started flipping over as Shepard rammed it against the side of the tunnel. Shepard was waiting for the next parking platform so he could bring Akakios' car down for good when he felt the inside of the airhog start heating up rapidly.

"J-….at's going o-on in th—" Shepard could barely make out Miranda's broken voice over the hog's speakers.

Quickly redirecting the signal to his earpiece, he held his hand to his ear. "I don't know, I think…" Shepard looked up and saw the glass of the hog melting under a blue glow. "Shit!" He twisted the handlebars violently, trying to find a combination of activated directional thrusters that would detach him from Akakios, though to no avail.

"John!"

"I'm right under her torches, Miranda!" The airhog's interior went red as the HUD flashed a warning and a set of alarms started blaring.

Near deafened by the airhog's wailing, Shepard could barely hear the Aussie curse under her breath. "You need to get out of there, _now._"

"Please tell me you've got better advice than th—" Shepard grunted loudly as he felt the searing sensation of hot, melted glass drip down the skin behind his right ear. Between his ear now throbbing in pain and the relentless screaming of the airhog, Shepard could no longer make out Miranda's voice.

_Shit._ Shepard closed his eyes and blocked out all the noise around him as he tried to recall what he had once learned in training.

_Shepard fell back against the mat, downed for the twelfth consecutive time by his heavily built trainer._

_A petite woman with dark skin peered out from behind a holozine and stared breezily at Shepard's bruised and bleeding body. "Geez, Czerno. Take it easy on the kid, would you? He's not going to be able to pick up his targets when I go out with him later if his face is all black and blue."_

"_What?" Andrei Czernovog turned around to face the pretty operative and spoke in his characteristically thick Eastern European accent. "Young boys learn best through failure."_

_Fatinah sighed and pressed down with her thumb on the end of a cylindrical metal piece in her hand. The holozine's display flickered away and the woman joined the piece magnetically with its partner in her opposite hand, laid the 'zine down, and walked over to Shepard._

"_Look, Shep. If you ever find yourself cornered and you don't know what to do, just do what you do best." Fatinah crouched down and looked at Shepard who reached up to wipe the blood from his lip with the back of his hand. "Take Andy here." Czernovog bristled at the use of the nickname, which he knew Al-Aswad used just to annoy him. "Andy's pretty much good at doing one thing."_

"_Shooting people." The dark haired operative crossed his arms proudly._

"_He's also good at killing things with his bare hands. But he's _really_ good at shooting things. So when he's cornered by someone…"_

"_I shoot it."_

"_And when he comes across a problem…"_

"_I shoot it."_

"_Even when it's inanimate," the agent added teasingly. "So if you ever find yourself supremely screwed, just do what you do best. And from what I've heard, that's using—"_

"My biotics." Shepard looked around the interior of the airhog and considered his possibilities. He could form a biotic barrier around himself, maybe, push it outwards until the fiberglass was ripped apart and he could escape. The amount of biotic energy that would take though was enormous and he had no intention of tearing apart Cerberus' welcoming gift to him without getting his hands on Akakios while he was at it.

Shepard kept surveying his surroundings, trying to figure out how much time he had left. _Strange,_ he thought to himself. _It's not as hot anymore_. Shepard peered up at the glass covering but it, now cooled and firmly attached to Akakios' skycar, gave him no clue as to what was happening. Shepard cleared away the forward HUD and noticed that the cars around him and Akakios seemed to be moving even slower.

_Which means we're moving faster_. Shepard squinted his eyes and saw what the asari was trying to do. They were coming to the end of the tunnel. In front of them was the option to turn left or right, but the car couldn't continue forward without smashing into the side of a low-rise tower. All Akakios had to do was bring her Lotus up just high enough for it to clear the ledge, and what was left of the hog and of Shepard would crumple against it.

Shepard laughed out loud as red lights continued to flash against his skin. He had thought this mission would be an easy game of cat and mouse. No problem for him, a proposed biotic powerhouse, and Miranda, the perfect woman.

Evidently, that was not the case.

Shepard's thoughts quickly returned to the problem at hand. The only flaw with his original plan was that it took too much energy. Too much force.

_But cut down on the area that force is distributed over…_

Maybe there was hope for the two of them after all.

Shepard unbuckled himself and curled himself into as small a ball as possible. He took a deep breath and flared his biotics. _Now or…death._ Suddenly two purple rings, each a thin but intensely concentrated mass effect field, burst outward from Shepard's shrunken form and cut through the metal frame of the airhog. The rear part of the hog fell away and Shepard was sucked out backward, just in time to avoid collision with the tower. He started into a free fall, but once he had collected his bearings, biotically lifted himself up and after Akakios. Shepard was just about to clear the ledge when he had to violently swing himself out of the way of the oncoming cross traffic. Though he succeeded in avoiding the first skycar, he couldn't control his biotics from throwing him against the hood of different one.

_Still gotta work on that one._ Shepard groaned and opened his eyes so he could see the car's driver.

"You're shitting me." Shepard nearly fell from the hood as Miranda pulled off the airway and after Akakios.

"How about letting me in!" Shepard screamed over the sound of the Nos Astran traffic. Shepard watched Miranda, just inches away from him on the other side of the glass, lift her hand to her ear.

"Need you up there so you can jump onto Akakios' car once I get close enough!"

"She's got a gun! What if she starts shooting again?" Shepard felt his hair whipping against his skin.

"You're capable of making a decent biotic barrier! That means you can take a few hits!"

Shepard shook his head in disbelief. "I'm so glad you're always looking out for my well-being!"

"We're almost on her! Get ready to jump!"

Shepard looked to his side just in time to get a burst of heavy pistol fire to the face. _I'm so dead, I'm so dead, I'm so…_Shepard slowly opened his eyes and saw that he was not, in fact, dead and had actually managed to get his barrier up in time.

"Thank God for muscle memory."

"You mean thank God for Zarnow being crazy enough to fire cannonballs at you to test your barrier creation time! Now get over there!"

Shepard looked over the edge of Miranda's car to see where he would land in case he missed the jump. The street level was so far away, he couldn't even see it; instead he just saw a mass of smog. He looked over to Miranda who was motioning toward the Lotus with her head until she was forced to duck under the dashboard by another round of shots.

_Ahh, screw it_. Shepard jumped over to Akakios' roof and felt her start firing through the fiberglass and into his barrier almost immediately. "My shields aren't gonna hold through this, Miranda!"

"They _can_ hold. They _will _hold." Miranda rammed her car into Akakios' to keep her off balance and try and divert the gunfire from Shepard. "You have all this biotic power, John," Miranda grunted as Akakios turned into her skycar violently, "yet sometimes you act like you have barely any at all." Shepard continued to grip the sides of the skycar as Akakios began bucking it up and down in an attempt to throw him off. "Being powerful…" Shepard was nearly thrown off the car when Miranda managed to push Akakios into a side alley, "is as much knowing what power you have as actually having power."

_What power I have, huh?_ Shepard took another deep breath and tried to visualize Akakios below him. All biotics, even when not using their abilities, caused small, nearly imperceptible fluctuations in mass effect fields. If he could just pick up those fluctuations - _read_ her biotics, he should be able to mentally construct an image of her and…

Shepard formed a bright purple orb around his fist and jammed it through the roof of the car. He grabbed the heavy pistol from Akakios' hand before she even had the chance to react.

_I can't believe that worked_. Shepard had heard Zarnow's ranting about 'reading' biotics before, but he had never told them that it had always been accidental. By chance. Reflex. Not under his control. But this time…

Shepard threw the pistol over the side of the car and slid away from the hole he had created in the roof. Still visualizing Akakios, now considerably easier because she was flaring her own biotics, Shepard formed a biotic sphere around her head. He increased the force of the part of the sphere against the skin of her neck, slowly choking away her air.

"Where's the disc?" Shepard shouted aloud.

"You think I'm going…to tell you…that easily!" Akakios was already struggling to speak. "You won't even…shoot me!"

Shepard was about to respond when Miranda rammed the Lotus again, this time bringing it down on a nearby rooftop. Shepard dispelled the sphere, rolled off the car, and landed in a crouch. When he stood back up, Miranda had already climbed out of her commandeered vehicle and pulled Akakios from the driver's seat.

"John, restrain her," Miranda said briskly after she threw Akakios on the ground beside the car. Shepard was engulfed in azure flame as walked towards Akakios, holding out his hand to subdue her biotics.

Akakios struggled under his influence, and stared at Shepard in disbelief. "What the hell are you?"

Shepard's expression hardened and he looked over at Miranda. "_John_," she said sternly, wary of what would happen if his hold over the asari relented.

"Aww, you guys are on a first name basis," the asari sneered as Shepard flipped her over, pulled her arms behind her, and dug his knee into her back. "Cute. What are you - dating?"

"The _disc,_ Akakios. Where is it?" Miranda demanded, pulling Akakios' head up while digging her nails into the grooves between the asari's scalpal folds.

Akakios, unable to get a rise from the Cerberus beauty, spat at Miranda, which caused Shepard to dig his knee deeper into her spine. "Who in the Goddess' name are you guys anyways?"

"Friends of the Admiral. Now, last chance. The disc."

"Please. You two are nothing more than _common thugs—_" Miranda's heel came down hard on Akakios' temple, knocking her out before she had the chance to finish.

Miranda gave the body a brief pat down and then checked the soles of the asari's boots. She pulled out a small disc and held it between her fingers as she glared coldly down at the body. "How trite." She ran the disc through her omnitool to confirm that it hadn't been copied and then turned to look at a forlorn Shepard.

"Large organizations like Cerberus have to rely on grunt work, John. Better you learn that now than later."

Shepard picked up his head and looked Miranda in the eye. "No, it's not that. I get that. It's my bike."

"What about it."

"It's completely totaled."

* * *

><p>AN: So their first mission; hopefully I don't bomb on action scenes.

Edit: I recently remembered that helium is an inert, and thus non-flammable, gas. I _will_ rewrite that scene, once I figure out a different way to blow up Miranda's car.


	20. The Fool He Isn't

Disclaimer: Mass Effect and all its characters belong to Bioware.

**Hellhound**

Shepard waited for the waitress to place an oversized bowl of shio ramen in front of him before thanking her graciously and breaking apart his chopsticks. He looked out the glass front of the shop at Miranda who had just let her hand drop from her ear and was walking towards the doorway. Shepard's eyes followed her across the small, nearly deserted hole-in-the-wall and when she retook her stool at the side bar, Shepard drew out another pair of chopsticks from the cup to his right and held them out to her.

Miranda accepted the offering and looked down at her own bowl. "I can't believe I let you talk me into coming here. There's a perfectly respectful izakaya just twenty minutes away that makes an impeccable pork belly and—"

Shepard turned away from Miranda and began slurping down his noodles noisily. "C'mon Miranda, you know I hate those kinds of really formal places. I never really know how to act. And seeing as I almost died today, I'm pretty sure I get dibs. Besides, these things are like six creds a piece. I'm a cheap date, right?"

Miranda flinched when Shepard referenced his near death. He seemed to treat it so…casually. Suddenly Miranda's mind was brimming with questions. Did he even care? Did he secretly blame her? Would he judge her? Miranda wanted answers, but Shepard _was_ right. He had nearly died, and the least she could do was respect that.

"Earth to Miranda." Shepard tilted his head to the side and playfully bumped his shoulder into hers.

Miranda looked back into his eyes, which she could only describe as entirely sincere. "I don't think," she said, finally breaking her chopsticks and going first for the egg, "that that's something you should be priding yourself on. And I happen to know for a fact that Al-Aswad coached you in proper etiquette when dining formally with all Council, and some non-council, species."

"True. But then I have to get into a…Cerberus mode."

"Cerberus mode?" Miranda leaned forward on her elbows and looked at Shepard curiously. "As in different from your normal self?"

"Yeah."

"So today…?"

"Not like today." Shepard leaned into his palm and began stirring the noodles in his bowl. "I mean today was more…like fighting, I guess? You can't really lie or fake your way through a fight, can you? It's honest. It only adds to what you know about yourself versus something like seduction which kind of chips away at who you are."

"John," Miranda said in a weighty tone, "Cerberus is practically _built_ on deception. You—"

"Whoa, not so serious," Shepard said jokingly. "I can still _do_ it, it's just that if I have the choice I'd prefer not to. Especially when it's just something like the two of us. I rather be myself." Shepard picked his head up and resumed his meal. "Preserve my sanity," he said to himself in a quieter voice.

Miranda watched Shepard's hunched form a little longer before also continuing to eat. For all Shepard's talk of formality, Miranda knew he was probably also just straight up starving. He had used his biotics a fair bit throughout the day, which could work up quite the appetite, particularly among younger biotics.

"So you talked to the admiral?" Shepard finally said.

"Yes. She commended us for our 'swift and successful resolution to a delicate issue.'"

"And that's it? No reporting into the Illusive Man or anything?"

"The mission report will reach him eventually but there'll be no special calls to him or any other Cerberus higher-ups."

"Cerberus doesn't seem to have much of hierarchy, does it? Seems like it'd be pretty easy for you guys to just fall apart if someone just took out TIM."

"Tim?"

"Well, The Illusive Man's kind of wordy isn't it? It sounds like a comic book character but there're too many syllables for him to ever be taken seriously as a bad ass."

"Too many syllables?" Miranda turned back to her meal and laughed at Shepard's ridiculousness.

"I'm telling you, all good superheroes and supervillains have to shorten their pseudonym to three syllables or less. Look at all of humanity's favorites: Superman, Batman, Spiderman. Villains: Doctor Doom, Green Goblin, Magneto. All three syllables or less. Go over, and you're doomed to obscurity."

"Maybe obscurity is exactly what the Illusive Man wants. Besides what about Doctor Octopus?"

"Do my ears deceive me or does Miranda Lawson read Marvel comics?"

"No, I'm just familiar with your browsing history."

"Ha! My suspicions are confirmed." Shepard knew he was just joking and that so was Miranda…right?

"Besides, they're fairly hard to avoid since they've been around for hundreds of years at this point. Some forms of entertainment just never die, and we all know comics saw something of a revival after the Relay 314 incident."

"Xenophobic fears expressed by digital proxy, eh? But anyways, Doc Ock is a no go. Two syllables. I'm telling you, the rule's nearly foolproof. You can even apply it to other species. Turians hate the idea of vigilante justice though. Too against their groupthink – and let's face it, a little fascist – social dogma. The asari have their justicars and huntresses – look at that, three syllables – and…"

"And _you_ conveniently happen to fall into the three syllable category."

Shepard looked at Miranda curiously as he counted out his names' syllables. "John Shepard. You're right. I definitely have badass potential. You, I'm afraid…" Shepard clicked his tongue. "Have lucked out."

"John Shepard, you are a complete and utter fool," Miranda said, biting back a small smile.

"And _you_ have finally loosened up." Shepard returned happily to what was left of the shio ramen. He had noticed Miranda's unease after the mission, and correctly guessed that she was yet again obsessing over her 'failure.' He hadn't yet figured out what to say when she did that – at least not something that didn't sound like a cheesy come on – but he did know that occasionally acting like a fool and trying to present himself as completely non-threatening and non-judgmental seemed to at least get her mind off things.

Miranda signaled for the check, but her thoughts remained on Shepard. Was she being…comforted? _Loosened up_. It was almost as if he had known what she was thinking. Miranda froze as she considered a disconcerting thought: that Shepard _had_ known, that he had chosen not to speak it out loud and make her uncomfortable, and that he had instead purposely made a fool of himself to put her at ease. Miranda looked back at Shepard who gave her a lopsided grin as he wiped away with the back of his hand the liquid that had splashed onto his chin.

_Please,_ she thought to herself. _This is Shepard._ There was no way he was that receptive. And there was no way he – or anybody for that matter - knew her that well.

"Shall we go?" Miranda pushed back her high stool and swiped her credit chit over the checkpad.

"After you." Shepard followed Miranda out of the shop, only turning around to bend his head slightly forward and thank the chef with the traditional '_gochisousamadeshita.'_

The two remained side-by-side as they made their way down the dimly lit metal walkways; there was an elevator not fifteen minutes walking from their current location that would take them to an airrail station and eventually home.

The shop had been located on one of Nos Astra's mid-level tiers, and the nearby construction was not nearly as modern as the upper tiers' asari towers. Shepard could hear a nonstop mechanical creaking from the pipes that weaved through the tier's scaffolding, and between the already muggy Nos Astran summer air and the steam the pipes gave off, Shepard's shirt was clinging noticeably to his skin.

Shepard was enjoying the comfortable silence, when he saw four shadowy figures emerge from an alley just off to the right: four turians, each with facial markings from the same colony.

"Credit chits, humans. Now."

Shepard looked over at Miranda whose only reaction thus far was to cock her left eyebrow in mild surprise. "You know, for all the time I've spent in Nos Astra," he said, "I've never been shaken down before. I'm a little bit excited."

The lead turian's eyes flicked confusedly between Shepard, who was acting as if there wasn't even a threat, and Miranda.

"It wears off," Miranda replied to Shepard as she stared at the turian like a teacher scolding schoolchildren might.

"_Your chits_." One of the turians lifted up their pistol and fired a warning shot straight into the air, and was surprised when neither Miranda nor Shepard flinched.

"Chits are fingerprint activated aren't they? How do you guys even use them?"

"They hack them, John," Miranda said coolly.

"Makes sense, I guess. Except you can deactivate a chit from your omnitool so what's to keep us from doing that after we give over our chits?"

"Fine!" another turian growled. "Give over your omnigloves while you're at it."

Shepard pulled his hands from his pockets and wiggled his bare fingers. "Cybernetically implanted accelerometers. She's got them too."

"By the spirits, would you just shut up!" another turian yelled. He rushed at Shepard and tried to bring down the butt of his pistol on Shepard's head, but Shepard danced deftly out of the way.

"Alright, humans, this is what we're going to do. I'm going to hold this gun to your head and you're going to transfer all the credits you've got to this bank account." The turian sent a bank ID to Miranda's omnitool. "If you don't, I shoot you. Easy."

"That was a half decent threat," Miranda mused aloud.

"I agree," Shepard added. "It's really where you guys should've started."

The lead turian walked over to Miranda and raised his pistol. "You get three seconds to start the transfer. Three…"

Shepard grimaced, not for Miranda but for the turian. "That is _such_ a bad idea."

"Two…"

"Miranda, you're good over there?"

"I'd worry more about yourself." Miranda stared coldly into the barrel of her turian's pistol.

"One…"

Shepard started by biotically pulling the closest turian backwards, sending him flying over the nearby railing and plummeting down to the walkways of the next lowest tier. Before the turian's body had passed over his shoulder, Shepard started into a forward charge and stopped mere inches from the next turian. He grabbed him by his crest, pulled his head downwards, and drove his elbow into the back of the turian's neck, knocking him out. He turned to face the last of his attackers, but the turian quickly dropped his gun and held up his hands in surrender.

"Look, I got nothing against you, human. How about you just let me walk away?"

As Shepard was pondering his decision, two decisive shots came from behind him and lodged themselves in the turian's inverted kneecaps.

"How about you crawl," a voice behind him sneered. Miranda walked up beside Shepard, disassembled the pistol she had relieved her turian of, and threw the pieces to the ground. "Let's go."

Shepard shrugged at the turian now writhing on the floor and followed after Miranda. He was tempted to tell Miranda that was overkill, but he found that he lacked sympathy for the turians that had tried to assault them without provocation. _Slap a little medigel on that, _he thought to himself, _and it's really just a matter of pain - no worse than a punch to the gut._

Shepard stepped lightly over another groaning turian, the one that seconds ago had been holding a Haliat II to Miranda's head. "Wow, no blood."

"I was feeling merciful."

"Can't say the same for the guy you knee-capped. Or Kora Akakios for that matter. I mean a heel to the temple? That's got to hurt." Shepard shuddered as he recalled the scene.

Miranda looked behind her and slowed so that Shepard could catch up. He was joking now, but Miranda knew that he sometimes did that just to cover up actual anxiety.

"About Akakios…"

"Mmm?"

"You're really not bothered by what she said?"

"The 'thug' thing?"

Miranda nodded and Shepard let out a slow breath as he stuffed his hands in his pockets and stared upward. His eyes travelled up the walls of the towers surrounding them until he finally saw the small sliver of the Nos Astran night sky hundreds of stories away. "I'm not bothered."

"Good," Miranda said, more relief creeping into her voice than she had intended. "I was worried that…"

"That what?"

"That being exposed to Cerberus this way – from the bottom up – and seeing the less glamorous side of things before our real achievements would—"

"Cause me to make a snap judgment?"

"And write us off as just another fanatical criminal organization."

"I'd like to think I'm not that kind of person." Shepard turned to look over at Miranda. She may have been talking just about Cerberus, but he wasn't.

Miranda studied his face in turn, but said nothing. She had expected more resistance in converting Shepard, but so far she wouldn't say she'd really faced any. She doubted it was Mindoir alone. Perhaps the tragedy had been crucial in driving Shepard to their side, but it certainly wasn't keeping him there. He had made it clear in the beginning he wasn't in it for revenge, so Miranda had written him off instead as just another young boy with a white knight complex. Yet seeing him hold down Akakios and then leave a crippled turian in the street without so much as batting an eye seemed to go against that perception.

It wasn't xenophobia and Miranda wouldn't insult Shepard's intelligence by asserting that he was just mindlessly regurgitating Cerberus doctrine. Despite her teasing, Miranda did respect the teenager, more than she had ever expected to and certainly more than she would ever be willing to admit.

Miranda knew that she had been the one to tell him to find his own place within Cerberus and define his own morality, but she had said so expecting that whatever conclusions he came to would be painfully obvious, at least to her. _Easy to understand, easy to manipulate, _a small voice whispered at the back of her mind. Miranda crushed the thought.

Far from being transparent, Shepard's own guiding code seemed to elude her completely. When he came to a conclusion, Miranda often felt he did so entirely independent of her influence. The sensation, at first, had frustrated her. But now, as Miranda continued walking beside Shepard, she decided that it was for the best. If he had just been one to ask 'how high' when she said 'jump,' he would never, and this Miranda conceded to herself only tentatively, mean to her what he did now.

Miranda shook her head slightly, cutting off that particular train of thought. When she finally came to, Shepard, who had until that point had kept his eyes trained on her face changelessly, simply smiled and gave a hushed laugh.

"I have to admit," Miranda started, breaking the silence, "that I didn't expect you to agree to capture Akakios that easily."

"Yeah? And what did you expect exactly?"

"That you'd tell me that the Admiral should have faced the consequences of her actions like any other. Argue for the importance of due process."

"Well, I can't say those didn't cross my mind at the time."

"But?"

"But I figure that by joining Cerberus, I represent more than just myself. I can't just selfishly push my beliefs onto everyone around me all the time. That kind of moral imperialism…"

"Leaves something to be desired."

"To say the least, though maybe I'm just jealous since I've never had the kind of power that would allow me to _be_ a moral imperialist. Now Cerberus may have some…distasteful ways of doing things, but the fact remains that it's still one of few, if not _the_ only, human nationalist organization that can really make things happen – for better or worse. Due process, democracy, liberalism…they're great notions, but they've definitely got a tendency to get backed up in bureaucracy, burned by accommodation and become static and ineffective. Some problems just can't be solved without an authoritarian hand. Of course, people are going to disagree. But then again, you can take the people who disagree with releasing the genophage, and they've never presented a viable alternative have they?"

"So the ends justify the means."

Shepard halted in the middle of the walkway and looked at Miranda thoughtfully. "Not all means, no. People still have a responsibility to find the 'means' that benefit the most and cost the least. It's when we try to find that balance between the two and when we try and determine what means are really available that there's disagreement."

"No right and no wrong," Miranda slowed and beckoned Shepard to catch up.

"Maybe not, but there is _more_ right and _more_ wrong."

"And just who gets to decide that?"

"The numbers - at least after the deed's been done. But before? I guess it'd be the people in power, the people's whose choices make and shape history. The galaxy defers to the Council, the human soldier defers to Alliance High Command, and we to the Illusive Man. Officially, at least." Shepard and Miranda finally came to the entrance to the airrail station and stepped into the street level elevator.

"Not to be rude, John, but the entirety of what you just said seems to be some indeterminate middle ground that's trying too hard to please all parties involved."

"Maybe. But remember what you told me about not making snap judgments about Cerberus? That I shouldn't just look at the errors, but wait until I can see the big picture? Well, I'm still working on my big picture." The two waited for the elevator doors to open, before stepping out onto the platform. They stepped through an open doorway, which ID'd them, and once their metro transit accounts had been billed successfully, the next doorway opened and Shepard and Miranda crossed over into the airrail waiting area.

"Fine. But one day you'll realize that you have to choose either 'the ends justify the means' or 'the ends don't justify the means.'"

"Or maybe, Miss Lawson, _you'll_ realize that you don't." The airrail came flying into the terminal just as Shepard finished, drowning out the sound of Miranda's subsequent laugh. Once it had stopped, and its doors had hissed open, Miranda crossed over the threshold into the car and took the seat closest to the door. Shepard decided to sit beside her, and once he was comfortably in place, noticed that the car was completely deserted, save the two of them.

Shepard looked to his right at Miranda and noticed under the airrail's harsh lighting the bags under her eyes. "Hell, Miranda. When was the last time you got some sleep?" The bags weren't that heavy at all, but Shepard knew that to even appear on her face, she must've gone dozens of hours without sleep.

"Three days ago? Perhaps four?" Miranda closed her eyes, which felt like they were burning under the bright lights.

Shepard sighed. "I know you're the perfect woman and all, but there's a limit to how far you can push even your b—" Shepard stopped talking when he felt the pressure of Miranda's head rest on his shoulder.

"Just wake me up…when we get back," Miranda mumbled as she nestled closer to Shepard then drifted off to sleep.

He stared at the mop of raven hair for a silent while before finally resting his head atop of hers and lightly inhaling her scent. "C'mon, Miranda. Aren't _you_supposed to be the one taking care of _me_?"

* * *

><p>"Is this…your car?" Shepard froze as he stepped out of the elevator into the parking level.<p>

Miranda typed in a command on her omnitool so that the door to the skycar would open before she reached it. "John, you're the one who's going to be late, not me. Now are you getting in or not?"

Shepard adjusted the strap of his messenger bag and sprinted around to the passenger door. "Cerberus works in magical ways."

"It's not magic. Just money." Miranda pulled down the door to the skycar and started up the thrusters.

Shepard buckled himself in and held his bag in his lap. "So my bike?" he asked excitedly.

"Not a priority." Miranda pulled the skycar out of the parking area and onto the nearest airway. When she looked to her side and saw that Shepard had slid down in his seat and started sulking, she hastily added, "Though I hear they're designing a new one for you that has an eject function and is less susceptible to…melting."

Shepard's eyes glimmered hopefully and Miranda scoffed. _How nice it must be_, she thought, _to feel and show that much emotion with that much ease_.

* * *

><p>"So he just left? Just like that? What a <em>bosh'tet<em>!" Alice kept between Mel and Erik as they walked the pathway leading up to the academy. It had been a while since the three had walked to school together, as Mel had begun taking the airrail with Shepard shortly after they had started dating.

"Sis, I know you're trying to seem worldly, but once you take out the Kheelish you kinda just sound like an idiot. Besides, John's a nice guy. I'm sure he's got a good reason."

Alice hit her brother upside the head and glared at him. "Don't be a traitor. You were Mel's friend before Shep's, so when she complains, you just nod your head and agree. Now nod and agree."

"C'mon, you're being way too hard on the g—Ow!" Erik flinched as he was hit a second time.

"Of course you're going to try and pass him off as sensitive, even though he probably just saw her naked, didn't like what he saw, and bailed!"

"Alice—" Mel said softly.

"What?" Alice sighed. "Look, Mel, you're too nice to say it, so someone has to."

"Not that – well, _yes_ that – but I meant your voice. A little loud, don't you think?"

The brunette looked around at the other students on the pathway, some of whom had indeed looked toward the trio with curious faces. "Ok, my bad," she said in a hushed tone. "But I'm telling you, decent guys don't do that. Either he's a douche or he doesn't actually like you, and he's still a douche. Mel?" Alice stopped talking when she noticed Mel wasn't paying attention and traced her gaze from where they stood to a low-seated, black and white skycar with orange trim parked off in the distance.

"Is that…?" Erik squinted under the Illium sun at the figure that was climbing out.

"John?" Melanie Simmons' normally gentle, almost angelic, features set like stone as she watched Shepard step out of the car, lean back in to talk to whoever was driving, and come back out with his bag.

"It's probably just his foster parents, right? You did say he called to tell you his bike was in the shop," Erik said.

"I've seen John's parents' cars before. They're different makes." Mel found that despite her tormenting curiosity, she was unable to move.

"Erik, c'mon. We're getting a picture." Alice dragged her brother forward, leaving Mel standing alone. By the time the two had reached the school gates in front of which the car had been parked, however, it had already pulled away.

Mel watched the skycar pick up speed as it drove closer to her, her head following its progress. Once it was directly across the street from her, time seemed to freeze as Mel's vision zoned in on the driver, an impossibly beautiful woman who stared back at Mel briefly before pulling down her sunglasses and restoring the exterior tint on her driver side window.

_That_, Mel thought to herself as she felt the first pangs of jealousy and betrayal, _was definitely not his foster parents._


	21. Just Be

Disclaimer: Mass Effect and all its characters belong to Bioware.

**Hellhound**

Shepard leaned into his palm as he studied the interior of the asari eatery. The high-ceiling and long, swooping curves were typical of asari architecture, and a large skylight at the back of the restaurant allowed a two-story high sculpture of the Goddess to be bathed in natural light. His view of the statue was interrupted as an asari waitress approached him, carrying his order of raw, freshly sliced Thessian skyfish. Shepard followed the elegant arrangement with his eyes, the translucent blue flesh and white garnishes, before turning to the asari to smile and give his thanks.

"Not at all, sir." The asari's eyes lingered on Shepard suggestively and as she returned to the kitchen, Shepard could swear he saw her hips sway more than usual.

"Seriously, Shep?" Niket shook his head in disbelief as he started in on his own meal.

"It's not me. It's these maidens. I swear it's like they have some biological urge to jump a member from every species before they hit 300. Humans are just their latest obsession."

"One I know you've capitalized on."

Shepard grinned and downed his first slice of skyfish, forgoing the traditional Thessian companion sauce that had never appealed to his human flavor palette. "It makes me almost laugh when I remember those conservatives back on Earth who are still trying to regulate legal melding ages." Shepard scoffed. "Bet you most of those politicians haven't even _met_ an asari. And they're fools for trying to arbitrarily assign an asari equivalent to human ages."

"No love for the Earthborn?"

"Just the culturally barbaric. Don't get me wrong, I love Mother Earth like any good human, but I've seen the curriculums for the United North American States and they need some serious overhaul if Terra ever wants to really start churning out galactic power players. Even Mel's mom shipped her all the way out-"

"Speaking of…"

"Damn it. Walked right into that one."

"Talked right into it, really." Niket pushed aside his empty plate and looked straight at Shepard.

"That chatty, am I?"

"I think it's just your nature. Besides, _someone_ has to lecture you. Seriously, you get way too much freedom around here, especially considering Nos Astra has one of the highest crime rates-"

"White collar crime. Much less deadly. And most of it's not _really_ crime since we're not technically in Council Space."

"Ok, then what about right now?"

"What about it?"

"Out of school in the middle of the day?"

"Double lunch. Plus you're the one who invited me out, ranting about this great Thessian place I _had _to-"

"Shep," Niket said sternly. "I'm being serious."

"No, I…" Shepard hung his head, massaged his temples, and exhaled deeply before looking back at Niket. "I know. I'm-"

"Don't worry about it. But I mean it. What's going on with Mel?"

Shepard looked back at the man he had come to think of as an older brother and sighed. He couldn't exactly tell him the truth - that she had initially been part of his operative training and later an assignment - a way for Cerberus to get someone close to the Simmons' that they would trust, or maybe someday a way to exert influence on the Terra Firma president. Niket still didn't know of Miranda and Shepard's clandestine affiliation; that had been Miranda's decision and Shepard had stuck to his promise to abide by it. "It's complicated."

"Then please explain. Because right now, you just seem like a cheating dirtbag, which-" A fraction of a second before Niket was interrupted, he noticed an almost imperceptible twitch current across Shepard's face, but thought nothing of it.

That small twitch, in fact, was Shepard realizing that Niket, not wrong in passing such a judgment as an uninformed observer, would forever - or for at least as long as Shepard remained with Cerberus - remain uninformed, no matter how close Shepard felt to the man. Still, that small physical manifestation of Shepard's doubt in the path he was walking was fleeting, and by the time Shepard opened his mouth to speak, the thought was gone, to remain buried for some indeterminate length of time. "If this is about that crack about the maidens, I haven't so much as _touched_ one since before-"

Niket, long accustomed to Shepard's sometimes tendency to talk around sensitive topics, quickly jumped in before he had a chance to take control of the conversation and steer it away from the issue at hand. "No, not about the asari thing - and, by the way," Niket pointed at Shepard before he continued, "I was going to finish that last sentence 'the dirtbag, which I know _you're not_' - and you know who I'm talking about. Have you seen her recently? What was her name…"

"_No._ I haven't. Things…haven't been that bad lately." Shepard rubbed the back of his neck and turned away from the statue of the Goddess, instead looking out the window to the street outside.

Niket backed off for a while, spinning around his chair so that he was watching the Nos Astra passerby traverse the clean metal walkways, busily talking into their earpieces or typing away on their datapads, as if the rest of the people around them simply didn't exist. Niket sighed and scratched his chin. "Why couldn't you have coped through video games like a normal teenager?"

Shepard let out a low 'hrmmph,' a cross between a short, syllabic laugh and deep-throated grunt. "As therapeutic as video games can be, they're not exactly ideal for venting romantic frustration. Plus it'd probably just ruin whatever game I was playing, and you'd end up a man short for Galactic Warfare 3."

The older man chuckled to himself as he remembered some of their earlier gaming sessions, which had on more than one occasion been cut off following Miranda's angry castigations. "But Shep, you know that entire thing isn't healthy. Keep seeing her and you're just going to screw yourself up."

"More than I already am?" Shepard said with weak sarcasm.

"Believe it or not."

Another long but comfortable silence passed between the two, who continued staring out at the street, squinting their eyes at the Nos Astrans with seemingly intense fascination. "How're the trials?"

Hearing Niket's question, Shepard was almost tempted to do a double take - he certainly had the first time Niket had spoken those words. Then he would remember that, as far as Niket knew, he was supposed to be a biotic test subject in a series of trials conducted as part of Miranda's research fellowship. "If you want a quantitative answer, you're asking the wrong person. All I know is that they're trying to develop some kind of nanotech that'll reverse accelerated EZN contraction in younger biotics."

"Let me rephrase. How are things with Miri?"

Shepard briefly looked back at Niket. It hadn't taken the man long after their first encounter to uncover Shepard's feelings toward Miranda, and indeed it had been through venting their common frustrations with the woman that they had truly bonded.

"Other than the fact that she sends off so many mixed signals she could scramble a ladar?" Shepard huffed.

"Which makes two of you." Niket looked at Shepard's puzzled face and let out a short laugh. "C'mon, Shep. Some days you're just happy being friends. Some days you want so much more so badly, you think there's something wrong with you. And some days you're so disgusted with yourself you can't even look at her." Niket leaned forward with his elbows on the table. "Let's face it, Shep. You don't know what you want anymore than she does."

"That's…" Shepard found himself at a loss for words.

"_The truth._ Now as for Mel, I know a lot of that was you just trying to like someone else, but based on the last time you called me, it's not working. So stop. Stop seeing Mel, stop going to the trials if you have to. Figure out what you want and figure out what you're going to do about it."

"I can' stop going to the trial. I don't want to be kicked out or sent to a different…" Shepard looked up as he tried to think of a different word than 'cell.' "...Test group. I don't want to be where she's not."

"Well maybe that's your answer."

Shepard looked across the table skeptically. "Nothing with Miranda is ever that simple. And even if it were really that easy, Miranda…" Shepard's voice trailed off, just the thought of saying that she wouldn't feel the same causing his chest to tighten.

"You know," Niket said loudly, interrupting Shepard's train of thought, "for all the times we've talked, you've never asked me about it."

"About what?"'

"Me and Miranda."

"Never asked because I wasn't sure if I wanted to hear the answer. Hell, the first time you mentioned it, I started wondering what you were doing giving me advice about her."

"Yea well, you have nothing to worry about there. Me and Miranda just don't…work…as anything more than friends."

"How's that?" Shepard said, curiosity now peaked.

Niket looked at Shepard thoughtfully, and started to speak slowly. "The first time we were together, I don't think Miranda knew what a lover was supposed to be. Maybe neither of us did. There was a period when she was just angry and empty and, well, I didn't exactly take advantage of her, but I didn't stop it either. We ended up doing that before it was really right and now…" He let out a heavy sigh. "Like I said, it wouldn't work. But that's not why I brought it up."

"Let me guess, you're going to give me a pep talk on how perfect we are for each other," Shepard said with a hint of sarcasm.

"Ha," Niket laughed dryly. "Afraid not. Miranda's impossibly good at pretty much everything she does. You'll be lucky if there are ever even three things you can do better than her. In the end, there's always some level she can't relate to you on." Niket counted off a second finger as he said, "Miri also says most of what she's actually feeling through these subtle and of course unintentional changes in body language. And while you're pretty receptive for the little things, you can get pretty oblivious with the big things. Did I mention that between the two of you, you have enough baggage to-"

Shepard held up his hand. "Not perfect. I get it."

"And I barely got started. But that doesn't matter, Shep, because I think you guys can _work_. Scratch that – I've _seen _you two together and I _know _you can. You bring out a part of Miranda I thought living under her father had crushed ages ago. The part that knew how to just _be_ with other people and be happy. No looking at a person and seeing not a face but an infinite number of reactions, to be predicted and controlled so that she could never be vulnerable. Never lose."

Niket could see the doubt on Shepard's face, but continued passionately nonetheless. "I don't assume to know much about Miranda. Just when you think you've found a rhythm to chipping away at her armor, just when you think you've got a grasp of who she is, she turns around and does something completely out of left field. But I can tell you what I _think_ I know. I think…" Niket's voice grew softer and when he spoke next, he was half there with Shepard and half reliving his past. "I think Miranda expects you to leave at any moment. Unless you're making some kind of direct benefit like money or power, she expects you to leave. And how could we expect her to be any different? Miranda's never known love; it's never been _given_ to her. Her 'friends,' her father…she's always weighed relationships quantitatively. Everything is cost or benefit. Everyone is at each other's throats all the time; cooperation comes from mutual gain and is only ever temporary.

"Miranda acts like she needs no one, has convinced herself she needs no one. But I don't buy it. I don't believe that even someone like Miranda can think there's not one person in this galaxy she can truly trust. _You_, Shep, need to be that person. You have to convince her that no matter what, you're not going anywhere. I couldn't do it. But you can."


	22. Demystifying Mel Simmons

Mel Simmons was walking back to her seat after trashing the remains of her lunch, when she saw a small figure from the corner of her eye. She paused to look out the window, watched them cross through the selectively permeable biotic membrane at the west gate, and start striding across the quad towards the Goyle Building, more commonly known amongst the academy's students as the human wing. Though hundreds of yards away in her classroom on the seventh floor, Mel easily identified the characteristic walk of John Shepard.

She watched as Shepard waved off an skycar hovering outside the gate, and it had hardly left when another human, whom Mel recognized as one of the varsity Quantum Quidditch starters, jumped from his hoverboard and caught Shepard in an armlock. After the ensuing playful but nonetheless testosterone fueled tussle, in which Shepard managed to quickly turn the tables and gain the upper hand, the two came apart, exchanging what appeared to be some high-spirited banter before clasping hands and parting ways.

Shepard continued his trek across the quad, next tackling the steps that rolled out in front of the administrative building, never being able to go more than a couple dozen feet before running into someone he knew and stopping to chat. He had been reviewing a flyer with the asari president of the Biotic Alliance when he caught sight of a young salarian hurrying across the plaza with dozens of datapads in tow. He excused himself, sprinted to catch up with the bipedal amphibian, and never daring to interrupt or slow the salarian's frenetic pace, proceeded to – as it seemed to Mel – ask a rabid streak of questions to which the salarian would respond with short and curt or long and breathless responses.

As Mel continued to watch the dozens of lunchgoers below, soaking in the Nos Astra summer sun, sitting on the plaza steps, fountain edges, and center sundial, she was reminded of just how much things had changed. In the beginning, when she and Shepard had been labeled an item (Shepard had never cared for the term, not because he didn't want to be publicly associated with her, but because he hated the objectification of personal relationships it reminded him of), the general reaction among the student population had been jealousy. Shepard, new, unknown, and full of rustic habitudes, had managed to win over within weeks of his arrival the influential, modest, and chaste daughter of the Terra Firma party leader.

Yet now that Shepard's magnetic personality was no longer overlooked because of colonial or biotic bigotry, his popularity had eclipsed her own. Aside from the more traditional segments of the male student body, and those who had - due to the seemingly unshakable nature of Melanie Simmons and John Shepard's relationship - resigned themselves to the pair's fated perfection, most jealousy had been redirected to herself.

Mel sighed and found herself wishing for those days in the beginning, when John Shepard was just a hapless clutz and she had had the sole monopoly over his toothy, lopsided grin. She had seen that John Shepard again, briefly, the night before, which was perhaps why she wasn't as angry as Alice insisted she ought to be. _That_ John Shepard, not the smooth talker most knew him as now and who had a seemingly endless repertoire of perfect things to say at perfect times, was the one that had, for the very first time in Melanie Simmons' life, caused her heart to skip a beat.

* * *

><p><em>Illium, 2170<em>

* * *

><p>"<em>What's going on?" Mel asked, pressed against Alice in the steady stream of students exiting through the classroom doors.<em>

"_Looks like Flash is whaling on some poor kid again." Erik, who stood about a half a head over his sister and Mel, craned his neck towards the commotion further down the hall._

"_It's that biotic student again…" a voice behind them murmured. Alice averted her eyes and started heading to her next class._

"_C'mon Mel, we have to get to…Mel?" Alice turned around and saw that Mel was headed in the opposite direction, straight towards the conflict._

_Alice looked at Erik and the two began hurriedly pushing their way through the crowded hall after Mel._

"_Mel, where're you going?" Alice hissed over the shoulder of the student in front of her._

"_To stop him. How can people be okay with this? How can _you_, of all people, be okay with this?" Mel kept moving forward, and all Alice could see of her was her golden braid._

"_It's just…it's not natural, what they can do. Haven't you seen those GalactiVid posts? They're all violent or half crazy. And even if that guy isn't right now, he will be."_

"_She's right, Mel. Just the other day they were showing a clip in the news of a biotic terrorist that ripped apart an Alliance official without so much as moving a finger."_

"_So what?" Mel swiveled her head back to give the two an impugning glare. "One or two extreme cases get sensationalized and we have to doom every single biotic to _this_?" She finally reached the second innermost ring of people that were surrounding the biotic and his attacker._

_Alice quickly grabbed Mel's arm before she could move any closer. "Look, Mel, that kid can fight back for hims—"_

"_You _know_ he can't! The academy's Head of Human Education has a zero tolerance policy for biotic violence! That's the whole reason guys like Flash can get away with this – because the Chair is a _known_ anti-biotic sympathizer." Mel finally pulled away and broke into the innermost ring of spectators, her face reddening in anger when she saw the scrawny, sandy-haired biotic huddled in fetal position on the floor against the lockers._

"_Wh—"_

"_What the hell are you doing?"_

_Mel watched as a tall, swarthy student broke through the line and stood between Flash and the biotic. The student – physically, a much better match against Flash Thomson than she alone would've been - looked defiantly at Flash with his olive green eyes._

"_What are you – a freak lover?" the heavyweight sneered. "'Cause that's all this thing is: an industrial freak show. Or wait, maybe you're one too, huh?"_

_The student's face hardened, and there was a brief hush that fell over him and the small crowd, as if he was caught in the middle of some dire decision._

"_Hey, did you hear m—" Flash stopped talking when an eerie static suddenly flooded the atmosphere, rolling out from where Shepard stood in shapeless waves. He wasn't the only one who felt it; Mel, Alice, Erik, and the others all felt a strange prickling sensation creep across their skin._

_The student's hair began to blow about, and when he turned and crouched down before Flash's latest victim, Mel caught sight of a small metal piece built into the base of his skull._

_The huddled victim reluctantly unshielded his face – the first time he had been baited to do so was just a ruse on the part of Flash and his goons – and stared up at his rebel savior._

_The spectators gasped aloud when the student's arm lit up a bright azure and held out a helping hand. When the two had stood, the student turned back to Flash and suddenly, as if sucked in by a vacuum, the paralyzing atmosphere was replaced with Nos Astra's muggy summer air._

"_I guess I am a freak. One who won't hesitate to break your, and all your idiots', precious throwing arms if you ever attempt a stunt like this again. Not just against biotics – against anybody."_

_Mel, who like many others had become totally enraptured by the student's presence, felt a hand tugging at her wrist._

"_C'mon, Mel. Let's get out of here, ok? Before things get out of hand and before we're late."_

_Mel took one last look at the student she had never seen before, then nodded and followed after her friend._

* * *

><p>"<em>Everyone settle down and find a seat. Since it's the first day of the semester, and since at least one student is bound to have lost themselves on their way over, we'll wait another few minutes before starting."<em>

_Melanie Simmons sat alone at her lab table. Around her, a dozen pairs of students were chatting away, enjoying their professor's one-time-only mercy. Normally she would've been grouped together with Alice or her brother, but they, neither being particularly strong in science, had decided to fill their requirement with History of Mass Effect Physics instead of Mass Effect Physics itself. Mel sighed. Maybe she should've taken it with them, even if it was a notorious joke of a class, and ignored her adviser's insistence that all renowned universities wanted to see at least two semesters of advanced mass physics._

_Despite Mel's alleged popular status, which Alice touted all too frequently, Mel was on close terms with surprisingly few people. Most saw her as something of a campus idol to be admired from afar, rather than a real person to just walk up to and talk with. Even Alice and Erik, as good of friends as they were now, probably would never had approached her if the trio hadn't grown up together; the twins' parents were self-made millionaire entrepreneurs and heavy financial backers of her mother's political party._

_Students continued to trickle in, joining any remaining singles – except, of course, Mel herself – and when the five minutes had just about passed, her professor moved to close the door._

"_Wait!"_

_Mel heard the sound of rubber-soled shoes screech against the tiled hallway floor, but more curiously saw the door bounce off some invisible barrier, giving the late arrival the extra second he needed to reach his arm into the classroom._

_The student, half in the classroom and half in the hallway, smiled awkwardly as he slunk into the lab. Mel immediately recognized him from the hallway conflict minutes before._

_Hunched slightly forward to protect himself from the professor's angry glares, the student took the last available seat beside Mel. He started pulling various datapads from his bag, and when he looked to his side and saw her, he jumped as if he hadn't known anyone was sitting there, and nearly dropped everything he was carrying. "You're…"_

"_Mel Simmons." She held out her hand._

_The student tried to reach forward to shake it, only to realize he was still holding his bag in his hands. He cleared his throat to try and regain some composure, and started to reach out again only to quickly pull his hands back to his side. "Sorry, they're kind of…" Shepard wiped his palms nervously against his shirt._

"_You're completely different than when you were helping that biotic student," Mel added in her dulcet voice._

"_Oh, you saw that? Yea, well…I was angry and wasn't really thinking and well…I didn't think it'd actually work." Shepard stopped fidgeting with his hands and looked at the girl sitting beside him: clear-skinned, delicately featured – just as pretty as in the holos Miranda had shown him._

"_Well I'm glad it did."_

"_Yeah," Shepard said, his breathing no longer rushed from his sprint over. "Me too._

"_I'm John, by the way." Shepard finally held out his hand. "John Shepard."_

_Mel Simmons smiled as the late bell rang. "Nice to meet you, John Shepard."_

* * *

><p>Illium, 2171<p>

* * *

><p>Mel Simmons was woken from her short reverie as the bell marking the end of the lunch period rang. The quad had cleared out, caught in the silent lull between lunch and the next phys ed class, and John was nowhere to be seen.<p>

Perhaps it was best, she thought to herself, that the classes she and John shared had fallen out of rotation. She wasn't yet sure what she'd say; she wasn't even sure if she wanted to say anything.

Ignoring John's unanticipated morning escort - which Mel had consciously chosen to do for the time being, lest her mind run wild with what if's - Mel had been the one to first upset the comfortable nature of the relationship she and John had both enjoyed.

What had started as a curious inflection of Alice's voice had quickly latched onto Mel's mind, burrowed ever deeper, and ballooned to the point where Mel had felt she had to make a move. She had convinced herself that stagnancy in a relationship, even when blissful, was innately wrong.

Mel shook her head. It wasn't like her to let her actions be dictated by paranoia and obligation. It also wasn't like her – and at this Mel couldn't help but roll her eyes and try to hide the pink flush that began to dust her face – to try and seduce members of the opposite sex.

Mel sighed. As much as she wished otherwise, that really wasn't the sort of thing she could just gloss over, and the last thing she wanted was to be perennially stuck in the awkward tension she and John found themselves in now.

Straightening her back and taking one last deep breath before returning to her studies, Mel resolved to track down John Shepard later that afternoon.


	23. About Yesterday Night

Disclaimer: Mass Effect and all its characters belong to Bioware.

**Hellhound**

"I'm telling you that professor has it in for me!" Alice stomped up beside Mel's locker and noisily leaned back against the neighboring metal unit.

"Who? Makris?" Erik, who had followed Mel after their last class ended, asked innocently.

Alice raised her eyebrows aggressively. "_Yes_, Makris. Who else?"

Mel deposited the last of her things and once her locker had hissed shut, began leading the trio out of Goyle. "I take it your petition to get your grade bumped didn't go over well?"

"No," Alice sighed. "I'm stuck with a B-, and it's all because that asari doesn't leave _any_ room for creative interpretation."

"I'm pretty sure there's an oxymoron somewhere in that sentence," Erik interjected, quickly ducking out of his sister's reach to avoid any violent onslaughts.

"Yeah? And what did you get?"

Erik grinned and held up a thin datapad. "An A."

"What the-? Gimme that!"

As Alice read over the datapad angrily, Erik bent down his head and turned to Mel. "You?"

"Oh, _please,_" Alice said, never taking her eyes away from the orange glow. "All Mel or Shep has to do to get an A is hand in a datapad with their name typed into it. If there's anything that comes close to how much the academy's faculty loves themselves, it's how much they love the two of them."

"Sis…" Erik said, feeling as though he ought to come to the defense of the girl beside him.

"I'm obviously _kidding_. But seriously, how did this happen?" Alice threw the datapad back at Erik, who barely kept it from clattering to the ground.

"Want to know my secret, grasshopper?"

The trio squeezed through a crowded intersection as they turned from the hallway into the main atrium of the Goyle Building.

"Don't make me hurt you, Erik."

Erik's puffed out chest visibly deflated, but he continued on anyways. "All you have to do is make everything a metaphor for the victimization of humanity. That way, either a professor gives you an A because they're a homophile or they give you a B and you can just cry discrimination and get bumped up to an A. Makris happens to belong to the second category."

"Are you kidding me? _That's_ your secret?"

"That simple. Even though I'm guessing it probably wouldn't work if a salarian tried to do it…"

Just as Alice was about to start into yet another lengthy tirade, Mel, having finally emerged from Goyle with the others, caught sight of Shepard. He was standing off to the side, squinting under the sun as he held his hand to his auditory implant and talked, as an ignorant observer might have guessed, with an illusory partner.

"Sorry guys. Have to go."

Mel didn't have to speak Shepard's name for the twins to nod in understanding.

* * *

><p>"Miranda? What're you doing calling me at school?" Shepard turned his back to the steady outflow of students and covered his left ear to block out the sound of their chattering.<p>

"Something's come up—"

"As in a mission?" Shepard cut in.

"Yes. Two of our agents were recently incapacitated and are now unable to carry out an assignment in the Boltzmann system scheduled for tonight—"

"_Tonight?_"

On the other end of the line, Shepard heard Miranda clear her throat rather forcefully. "We're the only ones who can go in their stead, and since the location is off-world, we'll need to leave immediately if we want to catch the last shuttle out. I'll be parked outside Think Coffee at four so—"

"Oh crap." Shepard held up his hand and waved weakly at Mel Simmons, who was now walking straight in his direction.

"John?" Miranda infused her pronunciation of Shepard's name with more demand than question.

"Just…I'll call you back." Shepard grimaced as he heard the tone indicating the line had been cut; he was sure he would have to pay for that later.

His eyes still trained on Mel, Shepard found himself trying to imagine what she was thinking and what it might lead her to say. For Mel, their last encounter had been just yesterday afternoon, but for Shepard yesterday afternoon felt like ages ago. Between the time he had left her house and the moment his mind now occupied, he had talked to an Alliance admiral, made life-threatening jumps between aircars, lazily walked with Miranda through the Nos Astran night, and been lectured by Niket with caustic honesty.

Mel Simmons was so distanced from those parts of his life – what Shepard had come to think of as his _real_ life – that he was finding it increasingly difficult to put himself in her shoes. When handling targets, Shepard couldn't simply pick and choose a mask like Miranda could; he had to really feel what they felt, and in responding to that he appeared genuine. Yet the more Shepard suffocated from the fear that he was losing that sincerity, the more everyone around him seemed to breath easy and give him their trust. In the end, Shepard found it necessary to ignore, to some degree, that growing disparity between perception and reality in order to maintain his moral consciousness.

"Hi." Somehow Mel's subdued tone managed to find a voice within the dull roar of the students behind her.

"Hey." Shepard struggled to keep his eyes on Mel and off the ground at his feet.

After a few seconds silent pause, he let his eyes flick briefly to his omnitool's standby time display: 3:56. Shepard sighed and began to rub the back of his neck near his implant. "I swear I'm not trying to run away or anything but…I have to go."

"I do too John, but…I don't like the way things are right now and I don't want to leave them like this." Mel looked up at Shepard with determined eyes, her arctic blue irises fully visible.

"…Okay," Shepard said, nodding in hesitant agreement. He took a breath and brought his hands back down to his sides. "Yesterday was…it wasn't you. And it wasn't anything you did. I just didn't want to…hurt…you."

"Hurt me?" Mel asked, unaware of the deeper levels of truth to those words.

"Somewhere along the line I think I just…stopped believing these types of things," Shepard looked from himself to Mel, "really work out. And I didn't want to hurt you because I do...like you. A lot actually." Shepard gave Mel a modest, lopsided smile while, in the back of his mind, he imagined his truths and lies weaving together: virtuous white tainted with streaks of black.

Mel gave a small sigh of relief, causing Shepard's smile to grow wider. He reached for her, tentatively at first though more boldly when she didn't recoil, and brought her against him. The tightness in Mel's back gave way as she let herself be folded into his arms and rested her head against the crook of his neck.

She could imagine what Alice would've said – that she should be angrier with him, should demand more of an explanation, should guilt and shame him into devising an extravagant apology (which, come to think of it, she still might) – but she didn't care. Shepard was her third place: her world away from the duties of home and school, and a person with whom she was more intimate than just friends, less obligated than just family. Why force herself to be angry with him when she knew he genuinely cared for her? Why threaten to shatter a world she held so dear?

Shepard brushed Mel's hair behind her ear and pressed his lips against her temple. "So are we okay for now?" he said in a low whisper that caused a small chill to run up Mel's spine.

"For now," Mel said playfully, stepping away from him.

Shepard chuckled and then checked his omnitool again: 3:58. "Alright, now I _really_ have to go." Shepard started walking backwards, the nervous energy of being late in meeting with Miranda building up in his legs. "Vidchat later?"

"Yeah."

It was only after Shepard had turned his back on Mel that she realized that no, everything wasn't okay. Cursing herself for so easily getting caught up in Shepard's presence, she sprinted after him. "John!" After three fluid strides she caught up with him and grasped his wrist.

"Mel?" Shepard asked, confused.

"It's just one last thing."

3:59. "Uhh…go ahead."

"Who was she?"

"'She' who?"

Mel looked at Shepard and was part frustrated, part relieved. She was frustrated to have to explain herself, but relieved that he didn't answer immediately. If he didn't know who she was right away, then he hadn't been thinking about her, which meant he didn't feel guilty about it, which meant she wasn't something to feel guilty about. Which was good, right? Or maybe he _had_ been thinking about the woman, and had expected her to ask about it, so he feigned ignorance because he knew she would think that meant he wasn't guilty.

Wait, what?

Mel told herself that then wasn't the time to be getting paranoid, but she couldn't help it. As much as she trusted John, she couldn't deny that some seed of doubt existed. Paranoia was a result of selfishness, and perfectly selfless love simply didn't exist.

"The woman who drove you in this morning."

Shepard's expression solidified. _She had seen that?_

"She's nobody to—" _Nobody to me_. Shepard couldn't even bring himself to say the words. "She's nobody you have to worry about, okay? Look, I have to—"

When Mel interrupted him, it was with a force Shepard had never heard from her before. "John, that's not an answer." Mel was surprised by her own tone and, her blood flowing faster now, proceeded to plunge forward and ask the question whose answer she wasn't sure she wanted to know. "_What is she to you_?"

_What is Miranda to me?_

"She's…"

The scope of the question was so immense Shepard didn't know where to start.

He remembered the first time he saw her; she had been like the unattainable and smoking hot girl next door. Those nights when she had come home with shrapnel peppered across her back or when she had shattered turians' kneecaps without so much as flinching, she was the enigmatic and extremely sexy femme fatale.

She was the amazing friend who had supported him through the devastation of Mindoir and who he had supported that first night she, nervous and doubtful, had gone to see Oriana. Most of the time she was impossibly cocky, sometimes she was an insufferable smartass, and every once in while she would say something completely hilarious in her dry, biting kind of way, and her not knowing it would make it funnier still.

Then over the course of their living together she had become like family, like a sister who simply stopped bothering trying to hide all her weird or disgusting habits. Shepard remembered the weeks after Miranda had upgraded to the L3: the constant vomiting, how different she had seemed curled up in a blanket on the couch with frazzled hair and dressed in unwashed sweats. He remembered the first time he had looked into the trash beside the toilet and realized that she would no longer try to guise that aspect of her femininity either, and he acutely remembered the ensuing expeditions to the convenience store he'd be sent on to satisfy those weekly and bizarre cravings.

She was so much to him already, and yet he wanted so much more.

Such dozens of memories had flashed through Shepard's mind in the space of a second, and when he returned to the present he noticed that he and Mel were caught dead center of the stream of students pouring from Goyle, and that the two's conversation – a now highly volatile borderline argument – had even turned some heads and slowed some feet.

4:00. "I have to go." Shepard pulled his wrist free and started shaking his head. "I can't do this. Not right now." Shepard started backing away from Mel and soon his vision of her was being broken by intermittent passerby.

"John! If you go—"

"Just not now, Mel. I'll explain everything. Just not now."

"Then I don't want an explanation! Just tell me—" Mel's voice was temporarily lost amongst the clatter, and her visage was again hidden behind the procession of students. "Just tell me: _do you love her?_"

Shepard kept backing away.

4:01.

He was lost inside the chaos.


	24. Give Me a Damn Good Reason

Disclaimer: Mass Effect and all its characters belong to Bioware. Though apparently they decided to stop showing them the care they deserve at the time they deserved it most.

**Hellhound**

"You're late." Miranda fired up the thrusters the moment Shepard started to lift the passenger side door.

"I'm here," he retorted irritably. As he fell back into his seat, he fumed over the stupidity of what had just happened. He had been so close to fixing everything with Mel, but at the last moment had let it all fall apart.

Looking back, he could've answered any number of ways: she was just a family friend – kind of a bitch, but hey she's got the car – or a biotic mentor or hell, he could've just gone with the cousin routine. But no, he had choked just at the mention of her and damn near imploded when Mel had asked that question. It wasn't the fact that he'd screwed up that bothered him the most; it was _why_ he'd screwed up. Was he really that simple?

_Forget it, _Shepard thought to himself. _It's probably a good thing we're going off world anyway._

"Cooled off a bit?" Miranda asked, surveying the biotic beside her.

Shepard, leaned back against his seat, rolled his head to the side. "What if I said no?" His voice was calmer now, and his lips barely moved as he spoke.

Miranda reached for a datapad on the dashboard and held it out to Shepard. "I'd probably just drown you with work anyway."

Shepard gave a short, dry laugh and leaned forward to take the dossier. "I don't think that works as well for me as it does for you. What's this?"

"You. For tonight at least." Miranda watched as the dossier lit up and Shepard ran his fingers over the fluid, translucent surface.

"This is…" Shepard stared down at a picture of himself, surrounded by names, dates, and places he didn't recognize.

"We'll be infiltrating the Villa Auditore, home of Konstantin Brayko. Garish, mentally unstable, and sole inheritor of Maksimilian Brayko's - formerly the richest man on Bekenstein - fortune, Brayko recently paid an exorbitant sum to see the development of a highly intelligent computer virus finished. Long story short, we have reason to believe it can adapt to almost any condition, take down government servers, corporate firewalls, you name it."

"Isn't this something, I don't know, the _government_ should handle?"

"In theory, they _could._ But Cerberus needs that virus to deal with another problem the Alliance _can't_ – or rather _won't_ – solve."

Shepard flicked his wrist to skim through the dossier's files, and laughed in disbelief when he saw one that showed Brayko's small army of a personal guard. "So what, we're just supposed to waltz in there and steal it?" Shepard continued browsing and – _wait, is that a goddamn __**Cain**__?_

"In so many words," Miranda promptly replied, completely unfazed. "Brayko's hosting a party tonight to celebrate the virus' completion with his fellow malcontents – anarchists, trust fund kids, billionaires who'd rather support private militias than pay taxes to the Alliance and Mother Earth. We'll join the party as a young and wealthy couple, using a pair of identities Cerberus has already prepared for us."

Miranda saw Shepard's eyes widen and his mouth hang slightly open.

"Everything you need to know about your cover is in that dossier.

I suggest you get reading."

* * *

><p>"Age?" Miranda stepped out onto the spaceport parking area, her voice jockeying to be heard over the high-pitched whir of shuttles flying overhead, and her normally impeccable hair tousled by their accompanying winds.<p>

"Twenty," Shepard responded almost immediately. He rounded the car and came up beside her, and the two made their way to the terminal entrance.

"Hometown?"

"Singapore."

"Mother's maiden name?"

"Bowes."

"Your name?"

"Jo—wait…"

"And here I'd thought that was the easiest question."

"Just gimme a second. I nearly have it. Ss…sebastian?" Shepard furrowed his brow; Sebastian didn't sound _quite_ right. "No wait – Solomon! Solomon Gunn." He looked back at Miranda, his face that of a young boy expecting praise.

Miranda sighed. "Let's be grateful the flight's a long one."

Having come to the terminal, Shepard reflexively stepped in front of Miranda to open the door for her, only to have the door open by itself. Inwardly, Shepard sighed. _How is a guy supposed to be chivalrous when everything is automated these days?_

The two crossed the threshold, and when the door behind them hissed shut, the sound of harsh winds and overhead transports was replaced by the chattering of hundreds of aliens echoing throughout the terminal atrium.

Shepard readjusted the shoulder strap of his bag. "And who, exactly, are you going to be?"

"Allison Slim. Nineteen. Born on Earth but moved to Milgrom, Bekenstein two years after the colony was founded in 58'. Father is the CFO of Dynamis Corporation, the leading manufacturer of metastable metallic hydrogen, including an orbital station on Veltman. Mother is—"

"Yeah, yeah, I get it," Shepard said, rolling his eyes.

"That unlike you, I actually have some semblance of an idea as to what my cover is?"

"That you like to show off."

"There's no fault in advertising what assets one has."

Shepard was about to let loose a crack regarding the skin-tight, less than conservative nature of Miranda's wardrobe when he paused. Get in a good one or risk a week of cold stares and 'unexplained' omnitool malfunctions?

"John?" Miranda turned to Shepard after his abnormally lengthy pause.

He quickly cleared his throat and nodded for her to continue leading them through the concourse. "Maybe not, but I would say modesty makes a woman more attractive." _Next time, _Shepard told himself. _For sure._

Miranda smirked and cocked her eyebrow suggestively. "Then it's a good thing I'm already perfect."

Shepard laughed out in disbelief, but his laughs quickly turned to coughing. "Are you…finding it hard to breath?" he choked out.

"John? What is it?" Miranda tensed and her eyes began flicking back and forth, dissecting the terminal interior for possible threats.

"It's like…," Shepard squinted and looked at Miranda as if genuinely bewildered. "It's like I'm being suffocated by someone's_ massive ego…_"

Miranda felt the tautness flow out of her muscles and sighed in exasperation, causing Shepard to laugh.

"That went better in my head," he said.

"Most of your jokes probably do."

"Ha! You just admitted you think I'm funny." Shepard grinned and stretched his arms out over his head.

"And how, exactly, did you come to that conclusion?"

"_Most_, but not _all_."

"You keep holding onto that hope, John."

"Believe me, Miss Lawson, I wi—" Shepard stopped talking when he noticed Miranda was chuckling quiet to herself. "Seriously Miranda?"

"What?"

"You thought _that _was funny? The whole 'keep holding onto that hope' thing?"

"And if I did?"

Shepard shook his head. "…so much for being perfect."

"Oh please," Miranda replied, "good humor is subjective."

"And aesthetics aren't?"

"_You_ find me attractive, don't you?"

Somewhere in the back of his head, Shepard heard a small voice warn him that this was some kind of trick.

"Well ye-…bu-..I," he stuttered incoherently.

"Words, John. Use your words," Miranda teased.

Shepard sighed. "Yes, I do, but it doesn't count. I already _know _you, and once you start liking people for their personality, everything else about them just becomes more…beautiful." Shepard looked to his side directly at Miranda and saw that she had stopped in her tracks and that her eyes had narrowed. _Crap_, he thought to himself. _I shouldn't have use the word 'liked;' should've used…'appreciate' or something. Great_.

"Too cheesy?" he finally said to break the silence. "I was going for emotionally attuned and maybe a little bit of—"

"I think there's something you need to take care of." Miranda nodded past Shepard's shoulder, and when he turned around it was his turn to stop in his tracks.

"Mel?"

* * *

><p>Miranda stood near the eastern gate to platform nine and looked to the fountain in the center of the concourse. Hordes of aliens, including some of the galaxies less prevalent species, could be seen walking past it, weary and impatient travelers sat along its outer rim watching the arrivals and departures board obsessively, and near the northeast corner stood Shepard and Ms. Simmons, silent and immobile. His arms were crossed and his head was bowed slightly forward so he could avert her gaze. She had locked her elbows and tucked her hands in her pockets, and her expression, Miranda guessed, was the closest thing she could manage to stoic.<p>

Two minutes, Miranda decided. Two minutes and then they would have to go.

* * *

><p>"You're…?" Shepard started, not knowing how else to. He was starting to understand that old adage about not being able to run away from one's problems very, very acutely.<p>

"Headed to the Bek with my mom for the weekend. Try and help her get some new funding for the reelection campaign." Mel spoke slowly; her voice was hollow.

"Yeah," Shepard replied, "I hear it's where most of humanity's private wealth is these days." Shepard looked down and bit into his tongue, cursing himself for being too afraid to say the things that mattered.

"I was…going to tell you the other day but…"

"Right," he quickly cut in, sparing them both the awkwardness.

The seconds dragged on for what felt like hours, each moment of which Shepard spent fighting the invisible influence that threatened to drive him backwards, as if some repellant force had been generated between him and Mel simply by way of them being near each other.

"So that thing you had to do...it's with her?"

"Look Mel, she's not-" When Shepard picked up his head to look at Mel Simmons, he saw something he hadn't expected to see: hope. Not anger, not frustration, not disappointment - a desperate almost pleading sliver of hope.

But for what? Was it hope that he would say that one something that would make everything forgivable? That would make his hurting her okay?

He didn't want that. He didn't want for her to be okay with that, not then and not ever.

"John." Shepard was startled when his omnitool came to life with Miranda's familiar, accented voice in tow. "John, it's time."

The two stood a while, simply staring at the orange glow. Mel turned to her side and glanced at Miranda before finally speaking.

"Stay with me."

"Mel?"

"Stay with me, right here, right now. Stay with me and I won't...I won't go where I was going."

Shepard looked at Mel again, and this time he could see past her controlled exterior. She had done well to bury what she'd been feeling up until that point, but suddenly everything was so clear to him. The quiver in her voice. The insecurity in how she held herself. Shepard could see her pain, how hard she was fighting to contain it.

He could see her breaking in front of him.

And he knew it was his fault. He had spent months inflicting himself - his lies and his half-assed emotions - on her, and she didn't deserve it. Finally Shepard felt something splinter within him, felt a dark chasm break open and flood him with anger and disappointment and disgust. That's right: she _didn't_ deserve this. Shepard had never seen Mel Simmons be anything but a genuinely good person, and if Cerberus expected him to keep abusing that goodness, if Cerberus expected him to keep feeling what he felt at that very moment, they would have to give him a damn better reason than what he was getting now.

"You should go," Shepard finally replied. He had freed himself from the weight of dread and uncertainty, and replaced them with new faith in his own righteousness. "I'm not a person with any right to stop you."

Mel studied Shepard closely, unsure what he meant. She wanted to ask, but somehow she already knew; their relationship was a casualty of some war he was having with himself, some deeply personal inner conflict that went beyond petty love triangles he felt he couldn't share with her. Mel was both hurt and concerned knowing he was holding back something so potentially destructive, but even if he wouldn't let her in, she could see he was trying to do something good and right towards her.

"John, if you go...it'll be over."

"Yeah," he said slowly. "It will."

* * *

><p>AN: I figure anyone who's read up to here must be in it for the long haul so I thought I'd drop this note: Hellhound will run pre-ME1 to ME3 with a non-canon ending.


	25. A Subtle Promise

**Hellhound**

"Almost ready?" Miranda's voice wafted into the open area of the hotel room where Shepard stood buttoning his shirt. He looked up into the full-length mirror before him and saw her reflection; she was walking towards him in her one-shoulder white sheath dress, but her eyes were closed, her hands lifted up behind her neck as she made some last minute adjustments to her hair.

"Y-yeah." Every other heartbeat, it seemed, was escaping his chest and Shepard found it hard to breath. "You look…beautiful, Miranda."

Miranda smirked as she came up beside Shepard who turned to face her. "Is that really the best you have, John?"

Shepard let out a small laugh and felt the air return to him. "Yeah well, sometimes all you wanna do is be honest and you end up cliché."

Miranda's small smile remained as she reached around to either side of Shepard's neck and began to smooth his collar. "You look quite sharp yourself, Solomon Gunn."

"John Shepard." Shepard looked up from where his eyes had been entranced by Miranda's fingers, still hanging on his lapels, and nodded to his side. "According to the clock, I still have ten minutes left of being John Shepard before we have to do this."

Shepard held Miranda's gaze for a short while before clearing his throat. "So no Cerberus insignia this time?" He motioned down at his suit.

"Afraid not. Too many off of Brayko's guest list would recognize it." Miranda brought her hands back to her sides.

"Old enemies?"

"Old friends."

Shepard raised his eyebrows. "Cerberus certainly has a way of treating its friends."

Miranda looked directly at the developing biotic, noting his choice in possessive pronoun. "It's no secret a good deal of Cerberus' funding comes from Bekenstein. They donate to our cause because they expect us to protect them from the dangers of the galaxy in a way the Alliance can't, won't, or both. Sometimes that includes themselves."

Shepard nodded slowly and stuffed his hands into his pockets. "It's just…it seems like there's nobody Cerberus wouldn't double cross."

"Not without reason." Miranda studied Shepard's face; where was all this doubt coming from?

Shepard squinted and began to study his shoes. _Reason_. That's all he needed from Cerberus: a reason. A good reason to keep doing the things they claimed needed to be done. By this point, he was more than familiar with the organization's mantra - that everything they did was for the preservation, the advancement, the _good_ of humanity.

But he needed something more. He couldn't just break someone's heart and tell himself it was for 'the good of humanity.' He needed to be able to see a clear, straight line between what he was doing and who he was benefitting.

"I broke up with her…Mel," Shepard said quietly.

"I had assumed." Miranda winced inwardly at the callousness in her voice. While she could admit to herself that Shepard had earned her respect, it was in deciding how best to express it that she found herself conflicted: should she be a friend? A colleague? A superior?

Back at the spaceport, that something had gone wrong between Shepard and his target – no, between him and Melanie – had been painfully apparent. But she hadn't expected this. The doubts. She had expected…for him to be like her, to brush it off and to move on.

The friend in Miranda was relieved. The John she first knew, the one she couldn't help but feel was being continually buried under Illium and Cerberus and, yes, even her, was still there. Miranda wanted to console him, to be for him what a friend was meant to be, but she didn't know how.

And then there was the operative in her. _She_ wanted to tell him that the first one was the hardest, that afterwards it became easier. The operative Miranda wanted to tell him that it had to be done, that goals had to be reached, that Shepard needed to know how to hurt others so that he was less likely to get hurt himself.

"You could've helped out, couldn't you?" Shepard looked at Miranda, who'd been momentarily lost in thought. "Wouldn't it have been easy enough for the perfect woman to come up with the perfect cover?"

Miranda hung on Shepard's pronunciation of the word 'perfect.' Normally, he would say the word with a distinct infusion of playfulness and consideration, but now it was different; it held a hint of resentment. Briefly, Miranda was reminded of her father and of how her inability to live up to his expectations had led to similar such disappointment.

The unwanted recollection placed a slight strain on Miranda's voice. "Perhaps, but it'd have been unnecessary."

"How so?"

"Cerberus recently caught wind of an ongoing kickback scandal with Nashan Stellar Dynamics. If news of it ever reached the public, the fallout would be bad enough to force President Simmons and her closest associates out of power. Cerberus already has men and women poised to fill those positions, should her attempts to reform party doctrine become even more conciliatory."

" 'got wind of' ?"

"Instigated, perhaps."

Shepard scoffed indignantly. At the drop of a hat, he realized, Cerberus could spread rumors of the scandal and ruin Inez Simmons' and her family's lives. "So just like that, she becomes…useless?"

"A non-priority." Miranda responded to Shepard's rising anger with increasing coolness.

"It's the same thing! You're just throwing her away!"

"John, calm down. Nobody's been hurt. We could withdraw our influence from her life completely and she'd be none the wiser."

"Yeah, but she'd still have been hurt! _Mel_ still would've been hurt, and for nothing!" Shepard's voice echoed throughout the otherwise silent hotel room, and he found himself slightly out of breath.

Miranda glared, frustrated by the fact that Shepard was near-yelling only a matter of feet from her face and that he was using her as a convenient way to vent his anger with his failed cover.

"If you think Mel was hurt, John, it was only because of your own failure: your failure to maintain an effective cover and your failure to distance yourself from your mark."

"But Cerberus put me in that position!"

"_No_," Miranda cut in almost instantly, "you _chose_ to be in that position. Cerberus put the facts in front of you, gave you an opportunity, _and you took it_. A Cerberus uniform isn't permission to do whatever you want and shirk responsibility for it. We, as an organization, may have to bear the backlash of what our operatives do to make it easier for the galaxy to understand, but responsibility will always lie with an individual, however much some people would like to ignore that.

"I don't mean to attack you, John," she resumed, "and I understand your frustration. Yes, she may have been hurt, and yes, it may be hard to understand what for. Mel was a contingency. Contingencies, by definition, will not all be used. Yet they are nevertheless vital to our operations."

As Miranda spoke, Shepard felt a whirlpool of emotions flood and flow through him. First anger, the kind that anyone could feel when something they perceive to be truth is challenged, particularly when that truth, if compromised, would cause them to feel a baser person. Then uncertainty, as her cold reason began to pierce his stubborn denial. And finally a disappointment with himself which, at its worst, bordered on self-loathing.

Shepard replayed parts of the conversation in his mind, and all he could hear was himself stubbornly saying but, but, but, reminiscent of a child who repeatedly rejects what is plainly before them. He hadn't responded with reason, just loud-mouthed deflections.

And it was this that disappointed him so deeply. For all he had thought he had changed and grown, his uncensored reaction remained terribly childish. Briefly, Shepard wished he could go back in time and change what he'd said, to respond in the repressed fashion maturity, that slow sewing shut of personal vulnerability, dictated he ought to.

But then he had thought that perhaps it was for the best. This sort of anger, he decided, was best let out in its rawest form, less its true meaning be lost in caution or euphemism. Maybe he would make an idiot of himself in the process, but as long as it were Miranda, he shouldn't have to care.

Still, that didn't change the matter at hand. Put simply, he had screwed up and it was his fault.

Shepard, calm again, stared at Miranda and laughed softly. Everyday, the degree of knowledge and experience Miranda had on him seemed to grow one step closer to limitless.

"You know, sometimes I can't believe you're just four years older than me."

"And sometimes I can't believe you're only four years younger." Miranda's eyes traced the silhouette of Shepard's tux all the way to the height of his six-foot frame. Though his overall height had long since ceased to grow, Shepard had developed a noticeably fuller build, courtesy of his Cerberus training regimen. It wasn't, however, to his physical growth that Miranda was then referring. Whether biotic, intellectual, or any number of other means, Miranda could only see the gap between her and John as closing.

Which made it all the more ironic that Shepard had thought she was implying the precise opposite.

Shepard finally cleared his throat and turned back towards the mirror, motioning for Miranda to join him. She did, and the two stood, shoulder-to-shoulder, gazing at their second selves.

"Think people will really believe I'm older than you, then?' Shepard asked, tilting his head closer to Miranda but never taking his eyes away from those in her reflection.

Miranda smirked and leaned slightly into Shepard's shoulder. "My genetic tailoring_ is_ likely to make me live half a lifespan longer and age more slowly than the average human."

Shepard smirked reflexively in return, though inwardly he began to ruminate on the darker implications of Miranda's prolonged lifespan. Miranda Lawson, bar some premature fatal encounter - which knowing her, Shepard thought, was unlikely enough - would undoubtedly live longer than any human to date. She would age and grow old (for her, no longer the same thing), and be forced to watch everyone she knew pass on before her. Lovers would wither away while she maintained a sensual prime.

Her only hope, perhaps, was in having children, but Shepard couldn't envision her settling down and neither, he believed, could she. Knowing what he did of her father, Shepard guessed Miranda knew nothing of the love between parent and child. How then could she long for it, especially when it would have to first overcome her venomous rejection to perpetuate her father's dynasty?

Shepard reassured himself that there would, for however long a time, be him and that there would always be Oriana. But when he tried to imagine Miranda without them…it was a darker loneliness than he'd ever be able to bear.

"I don't believe you," Shepard finally said with mock irreverence, looking to his side at Miranda.

"Sorry? John, you're fully aware that I'm—"

"Nope. If you're really going to live another half a lifespan longer than me, wouldn't you look like you were about twelve right now?"

Miranda furled her brow, unable to tell whether the young biotic was being serious or not. "It doesn't work like that. It's not just a simple matter of cross-multiplication."

Shepard chuckled and looked back into the mirror. "Face it, Lawson, if you want me to believe you then you're going to have to prove it to me. We'll stand in front of a mirror just like we are now fifteen years from now and we'll see who looks older. And I'm telling you it won't be me; I'll still have the finely chiseled jaw and complexion of a youthful Hellenic demigod."

Miranda smiled, pleased by the silent promise.

"And _I'm_ the audacious one."

"What can I say? I learned from the worst. So how 'bout it? Deal?"

"Deal."

"Good," Shepard responded, nodding in approval. "So shall we get going, Miss Slim?"

"You mean Miss Lawson." Miranda watched as Shepard's reflection took on a quizzical visage. "According to the clock, I still have a minute left of being Miranda Lawson before we go do this."

Shepard smiled brilliantly.


End file.
